Tattoed (A Dean Winchester fanfiction)
by Danny3.O
Summary: Lynn Deren made the mistake of selling her soul in exchange for revenge, but when the rogue angel holding her deal dded a little twist to their bargain Lynn has to live her entire life burying memories of what she did all those years ago. And she did. Until a pair of green-eyes walks into town and stirs things up by investigating a prison fire. One he doesn't know is her fault.
1. Chapter 1 (editted)

**Warning: Mentions of suicide, not gruesome though. Might be triggering for some people.**  
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My feet hung limp from the ledge of the window, as I stared at the pale white bandage coating my previously bleeding arm, running from a few centimeters away from my elbow and into my palm. It was itching against the aiding material. I tugged at reddening bandage, threatening to peel it off, leaving the gash running from my wrist and into my palm exposed to the cold New York winds biting at my form, but resisted. Instead, I let my eyes travel from my pale legs, both exposed by my oversized hoodie whose hem stopped just at my pale and bruised thighs and onto the city scene, flickering over the bright and ambient colors of the busy streets and skyscrapers piled in front of my. I sighed nonchalantly and tucked my raven strands behind my ear, as I took in the colors of the Manhattan sky, watching as vehicles sped by my building on the strip of tarmac below my. I choked down another sob.

Tears brimming at my swollen and puffy eyes, I batted my lashes and soon warm streaks of salt travelled down my face, a tickling sensation rising in my nerves as the water from my eyes fell at the curve of my cheek. I rubbed my bandaged hand against my cheek and let out a silent moan as I continued to swing my legs, knocking loose crumbs of cement off the building wall and holding back the urge to scratch my bandages.

Through my five or so minutes of sulking- I wasn't really keeping count- and watching the occasional crude and uncultured New Yorker yell at another from down by the taxi cab park, I edged closer into the ledge and curled my knees into my form, kicking off the imaginary specks of dirt that resided at the soles of my feet, and pulled down the torn and frayed hem of my navy hoodie, With hesitation I once more lifted my hand, and this time gave into the desire as I picked at the bandage tucked away and begun to unravel the entire piece, slightly shaking as images of carnage and darkness filled my mind.

Finally, the bandage was off and I bunched it up in my healthy right hand before placing it at my side, now glaring at my scratched at and bruised arm. Tears pricked at my eyes as I stared at the imprints on my wrist, the digits surrounded by narrow and thin cuts and bruises.

It was 7 years back.

I was 17 and in my bedroom, headphones in and blaring music to shut out the outside world when I heard a thud. I brushed it off, obviously not bothered by the sudden noise and continued to sketch on my arms and legs with a sharpie, swirls and curves covering my body and marking my for another two weeks or so until they faded when another series of heavy knocks followed the previous sound, and murmurs were heard downstairs. Teenagers are curios beings, right? Of course I went downstairs to satisfy my need for information- only I shouldn't have.

Midway down the steps, my mother screamed. Her scream followed by an angry threat and my father's name thrown into the air, making me rush downstairs. I entered the kitchen and found my mother with a gun to her head, shaking uncontrollably with panic. The man behind the gun was my father's "workmate" Arnold. A debate on my mother's life was taking place as my father begged for forgiveness, trying to explain the remorse he had. It wasn't working.

My father was in debt with Arnold and his people for a while now and hadn't seemed to understand that deadline did contain an aspect of dead in it- in his sense. Roy-my now panicking father- was an accountant with a low paying job and an optimistic daughter hoping to go to law school in the near year- you can obviously see how those two can't mix. Call it stupidity or desperation- I can't see which- but Roy decided it was best to get a loan from Arnold. After all, we were a poor family. I was used to changing schools quite often as my family jumped from state to state, my father changing from firm to firm just to set dinner on the table. We'd occasionally ask relatives for assistance but the only blood we had left was Patricia's- my mother- sister redheaded June, who herself wasn't in the best economic state. Living in Jersey definitely wasn't easy.

And so when the bullet sounded and Patty fell limp onto the floor, it was marking the end of the line. Roy broke out and soon received a shot in the chest and I remained sobbing by the door. Both parents bleeding out on the floor, the next hour or so was me calling the police on Arnold after he fled and soon the paramedics arrived, tending to my parents and zipping them up in body bags. That marked the end of the night.

The next week was the burial, and I attended, after calling June in and the rest of the family. The service went on, tears here and there and an old grandmother sobbing into her knitted and embroidered hanky until finally the reverend brought the depressive and somewhat passive state of the evening to an end when he declared the service as closed. The bodies were lowered into the ground, me having to hold back tears, allowing my grey eyes to appear glass as I watched them pile soil onto the coffins and soon the burial itself came to an end- but I remained.

Shaking with trauma and regret, my shriveled up form stood in the dim light of the sun setting and glared at the freshly packed soil covering my parents now blue and buried bodies, my throat dry and trembling.

It was obvious, the eyes were a dull grey, almost as if dead and my short black hair up to my neck was thin and dull, obviously not meeting the bristles of a brush for sometime then. My fingernails were overgrown and chipped as I picked at the shining leather of my black clutch, trying to peel off some layers of the material but obviously failing.

I loved my parents; why'd they go so soon?

I reminisced on times when both bodies still breathed air and their times with me. The time Patty cut my hair with paper scissors in our grey tiled kitchen, leaving tufts of my black locks covering the floor, which we soon after swept; the time Roy and I had gone to the library to pick out text books for school but instead spent the evening in the fantasy section reading the Hobbit series till the sky turned a shade of purple and the smell of crisp book pages intoxicated my nine year old self. All these memories and more flooded my mind as I stood clad in a black trench coat protecting me from the wind, but the most prominent of those memories remained the one of the previous week.

The clatter of the bullet, the song ringing in my ears as I drew on my skin, the pool of crimson covering the grey tiles that once harbored the black hair of a twelve year old on one of my most joyous occasions,- they were all still fresh in my mind. I rolled up the sleeve of my coat and ran my fingers along the faded black curves coating my arm from the other night.

I would miss my parents.

Of course I spent more time in the presence of my folks until evening came. I perched a bouquet of orchids on both tombstones of my parents, and simpered. Orchids marked their wedding day, flourishing the entire ceremony and the smell of the flowers still strong in my lungs- it was only fair they marked their deaths.

After saying my goodbyes, I left, and the sun began to set, tinting the sky into the shade it was the evening I spent buried in stories of Bilbo Baggins with my father.

It pained me to see my parents go the way they did, even more so to know at the cost of wanting to aid their family, but to my slight elation I planned on joining them that evening. I had the pills in my bedside drawer and the water was obviously available in gallons, rendering my plan as successful.

I had nothing more to live for, and so as I walked home, I continued to reminisce on my life, knowing it would soon come to an end.

**But of course I didn't do it.**

Not that day at least. I couldn't, my parents had just been buried and so I decided the more appropriate hour would be one in the next day. The pills remained in my bedside drawer and I slept that night, thinking it would be my last and that I'd swallow the bottle of Xanax the next day.

But I didn't.

Not that day, not the next week as I planned, not the next month,- the orange tinted bottle of Xanax remained packed in the back of my drawer.

Instead my time was occupied by the case with Arnold. I attended the court case and my parents' murderer was sentenced 10 years imprisonment, which I believed was not a full punishment for the offence Arnold committed. But a few days went by, and after uncovering the other little murders he had gone through with, the state had decided it would be best to have him pay the death penalty five months from when he arrived so as to let him stew in his own juices for the time being. At the time I begun to believe that that was karma's way of having my back, but she never really favored me in life, and her first try wasn't going to stick the landing, leaving me still bitter about the death like any teenager would be, and as long as Arnie still had a pulse, I was set on staying that way.

Thursday the next week rolled around and I was in my bed, anxiety boiling in the pit of my stomach after I packed and labeled all the boxes with my belongings for my Aunt June to receive, and believed I would truly meet a reaper that night. I remained there for three more hours, nicking at the thread on my sweater and passing time with music before I came to the realization I wasn't going to do it- to end my life. Arnold was to be taken care of now that I had sealed the deal, and I had no grief and bitterness to hold onto anymore, so what was the point of putting a gun to my head? I did miss my parents, but everyone learned to live with grief, and so I was no special case, getting back under the covers and readying myself for the wasn't until 2:00am, once I was passed out that he had come. Clad in a black tux with sparkling blue eyes and spiked black hair, his black wings revealed once thunder struck and the light from the storm exposed them. I was surprised and indeed frightened, but felt my stone cold body regain placidity when He made me an offer I thought was worth a try. Eight years and I could have vengeance. Of course I was frightened by the mysterious visitor in my bedroom that night, but once He revealed himself as Saul, I felt at ease- he was an angel. Well, a rogue angel, but server of heaven none the less. And so I accepted. Saul exchanged gratitude as did I, before leaving.

It was only a week later while grieving over a bowl of captain crunch that I had come to read the headlines in the paper stating that the prison Arnold was being held in had burnt down in a recent fire, only two days after he was thrown in and much earlier than his set day for execution. It was all in ashes when the fire-men reported to the rescue, 2 hours later, and only a few case files had been saved. I was stunned out of my wits when I realized that Saul was responsible for the fire, and worse, I was kind of responsible for deaths of all the others that night, ridden by guilt which soon faded though. I got what I wanted- Arnold was dead, and even though it was at the cost of tons of other lives, the job had been done. I tried to lie to myself I had no remorse for my actions because after all, they were all bad people cooped up in that jail, but trauma struck hard that day, and the following weeks were spent internally scolding myself for what I did.

Every night the thought haunted me that I was responsible for all those deaths, and each night i spent tossing and turning in my bed I told myself that it was just; to take those men's lives, to take Arnie's. I was young and, and suffering the death of my parents which was why I managed to squeeze out the guilt after a few weeks had gone by, but it was a tragedy none the less, and I held a heavy grudge against Saul, all of a sudden hating him for tricking me like that. I was furious, and tried to contact him a month after the fire, but he never replied up until a few weeks later when he came to collect his pay. Angels being the dicks they are, always do business in blood and pain- which is what the celestial caused me. It was a brief moment of stinging in my left wrist, and sooner than later, my digits were printed on my skin, marking that I had eight years left to live. 2920 days, those being the numerals on my skin. Of course I bargained, but it was pointless, the angel made up his mind and left.

Obviously scared, I contacted priests and pastors in my neighborhood, reporting the burden the angel had inflicted upon me, but the religious leaders passed it off as blasphemy when I referred to Saul in unholy manner. I struggled for two months, the numbers mysteriously fading into my skin as they dropped one lower each day, until it begun to bleed.

I'd go to bed at around 10:00pm and would wake up at midnight with an extremely irritating itch in my arm where the numerals were tattooed. This was followed by scratching the itch, but that wasn't the smartest move. Eventually, I had reached the point of scratching where I was bleeding and my skin was peeling. Horrifying scene, but I remained scratching until the itch stopped and the 6 on my 2616 numeral had turned to a 5, marking another day down.

Relieved I bandaged my wrist that night and went to bed with the reddening cloth secured around my injury until the next morning when I unwrapped it for cleaning and my skin was back to normal. I was surprised, but didn't look into it much- that was a stone I wasn't willing to un turn.

Throughout the week my skin remained in normal condition until the seven days run out and my Sunday night had played out again- blood and everything. This continued for a few more months until the molting was more frequent. Every two days the numbers on my skin would change and so would the state of my wrist- it went from pale white to bloody red in a few scratches.

Worried and full of fear, I would try to pray to Saul. I'd ask him for a refund and a solution to my shedding but the angel remained silent. This went on for weeks until finally I gave up. I'd wake up in the middle of the night every two days and bandage my wrist for the next morning. Soon enough, the skin stopped healing, and I'd remain with bluing bruises on my forearm along with cuts and scars. I had begun wearing an old tube sock on my forearm on a regular basis to deal with the residue of my metamorphosis, but even that was the least of my worries.

I'd wake up each day and the numbers would lower on top of the bleeding and after several fails with reading lore on how to fix my predicament, I fell into depression, another problem I'd have to deal with in life.

I figured if I was going to die in eight years, I might as well live my remaining life to the fullest, and so at 20 I moved to New York.

I failed with law school, and so my only source of income at the time was the role I played in a diner a few streets away from my apartment, as a waitress. It wasn't paid much, waiting tables, but it paid the bills. I wasn't happy with my life, but the numbers kept reminding me my time was almost over, and that was at least a bit consoling.

Of course having all these plagues on my shoulders, I did attempt my own suicide, but I failed. I woke up the next day, and the next, and the next until realizing the only way out was for my numbers to fade, and as I sat on the ledge of my apartment window, staring at the tattoo on my wrist , I realized I had only 360 days left.

The wind gushed against my exposed wrist, and a tear fell onto the black ink on my skin, as I rubbed a thumb over it. Craning my neck to glance at the wall clock in the living room, I shifted slightly, and soon a shiver ran down my spine as I watched the arrow strike midnight. Tears still falling from my eyes, I brushed a thumb across my wrist and the numeral faded into my skin, exposing a new, appearing to be a 9,..

**359 days.**


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2:**

The skin at the back of Lynn's knee scraped against the crumbling structure of the window seal outside her apartment as she shuffled around, trying to get back inside the open space living room but the narrow space provided faltering her attempts. She wormed around, praying to not miss a step and plummet to the busy streets of Manhattan lively running beneath her and luckily succeeded as she stretched a leg into the building, placing it on a nearby desk and hauling her form in. A sigh of relief escaped her throat as she struggled through the poorly adjusted setting and placed her feet on the cold floor, the impact of her soles onto the white tile making her shudder.

Lynn craned her neck to glance at the ticking clock strung on a thin piece of black thread balancing the contraption on the wall. Dreadfully the black haired girl scoffed at the time, the narrow black arrows of plastic radiating a tone of mockery her direction and watched as the pasty white circle hung on the dim lit navy walls littered with photo frames across the surface and tried to regain placidity and slow her heart rate. Lynn felt as though her skin was stretched too tight over her body and bit down the urge to scream and flail in aggravation, instead stewing in the biting tingle in her wrist as tears welled up in her eyes. Her knees wobbled beneath her as she remained by the open window letting in the chilling New York air before they gave out, allowing her mass to fall limp onto the floor with a thud, the thin skin on her thighs surely to be bruised by morning. She bunched up the hem of her old and rustic jumper weakly, hoping that the pressure she exerted on the piece of cloth would somewhat soother her panicking and hectic state as trails of chills strung down her cheeks from the tears rolling to the curve of her jaw.

Lynn's sight was blurry as she glared at the numbers on her wrist dreadfully, taking in the curves and crevices imprinted on the blue and red tape-textured skin. She had gotten better at controlling the physical pain she endured for the past years and sooner than later the numerals would fade into her body rather than her having to etch them off. Despite the noted progress, the entire situation would play out somewhat bloodily from time to time and tonight was listed as one of those nights.

Lynn brought her feet closer to her body and curled her toes. She could hear her blood in her head as she sat perched by her open window, contending to hold down the sobs slipping through her chapped lips but failing. Her cries filled the otherwise silent room for a few minutes.

The night bloomed faster as the stars disappeared into the curtain of darkness known as the sky, morning drawing nearer. Lynn was still sat in the same position as was an hour behind and the same thoughts of anger surged through her veins. She was used to the pain by now, but still as she picked at the pieces of lint on her pajamas, tossing the tufts to the floor each time she peeled it off her attire and felt a deep emptiness in her chest. More often than not the entire process of shedding had no major effect on her, but tonight she was just having one of her lows,- the kind where she more than hoped to pass out and wake up to her landlord knocking at her door, declaring how he would soon be evicting her, but she settled for less.

It wasn't out of character for her to experience a period of melancholy taken her days _were_ numbered, but nonetheless, she wasn't used to the bites of her mind nicking at the back of her brain. She wanted nothing more than to reach her tweezer-like fingers at the back of her skull and scratch the tickling itch she felt.

Lynn's chest felt tight along with other aspects of her usual panic attacks and although she felt all her emotions bunched up in one cluster sat in the centre of her chest, she felt an aspect of emptiness. She dreaded this feeling and the thoughts accompanied by her episodes.

But they were a side-effect of her condition.

The clock finally struck 4:00am and to Lynn that meant only three hours of sleep before she was to be hauled out of bed to prepare for her shift at the diner down the street, a little room nestled on the ground floor of the recently renovated building just at the curb by her apartment. The pay wasn't the highest amount, nevertheless it wasn't scraps and she could settle for it as long as it paid the bills. She stood firmly on the soles of her feet, stretching and craning her limbs and sorts as she made her way for the bedroom a few steps away. Her bare feet padded against the chilled tiles and she tried her best not to knock over any vases hidden in the dim lit setting of her living room and finally made a turn into the corridor just ahead of her kitchen. Her eyes scanned through the darkness and finally fell on the bathroom door at her side. The simple wooden door coated in paint the same color as the hairs on her head was open a crack, a sliver of light peering through the narrow passage and in front of the frail girl shivering with sleep was the closet door bust open and revealing a collection of plaid shirts, leather jackets, jeans and un-matching socks stuffed in a few pairs of boots at the foot of the space. Lynn dragged a tired hand across her sticky face and shuffled her feet in the direction of the bathroom, thrusting the door open with her healthy hand and flinching at the sudden burst of light invading her sight as she made for the sink.

Eyes adjusting to the new ambiance setting, she turned the knob on the sink, rejoicing inwardly at the gush of water that came from the mouth of the pipe and her hand broke the trail of liquid as she cupped some in her palms. She washed her face, blunt fingernails grazing the thin tape of skin and spreading the cold water from her forehead and onto the apples of her cheeks. Her hips occasionally bumped into the ceramic bowl of the sink as she bent forward to get more water on her face, and spat into the drain once she was done, reaching for a nearby towel. She patted her skin dry and tossed it on the nearby shelf after which she rinsed her mouth out with a handful of water and turned the tap off before, shutting the creaky door of the closet on her way to her , she stepped into the dark room and collapsed on her bed. Lynn pulled the covers over, swaddling herself and felt her mind drift as she begun to snooze softly, silent snores escaping her throat from time to time.

The next morning, dusk peering in with a heavy breeze and gush of wind, Lynn cracked her eyes open, taking in the bright ambiance of the morning shining through the passages of the thick burgundy curtains strung above the window and yawning as she sat up. She ran a hand through her knotted cluster of hair sat on her head and glanced at her the digital clock sat on her bedside table. The flickering red digits signaled that it was 6:50 and she scratched at the itch at the nape of her neck. Today Lynn was working the day shift at the diner running from 10:00 to 4:40 but seeing as she had errands to run prior work, she untangled her limbs from the mangled sheets piled on her bed and placed her feet on the ground, shivering softly from the cold tile rubbing their soles.

She dragged herself around her familiar navy walled room and embraced the environment, absorbing each breath she took in her bedroom before pushing the door open and footing to the bathroom where she relieved herself, washed off and returned to the previous room to get dressed. A mustard flannel mixed in with threads of black was thrown on top of a black tank top and she paired the attire with her regular blue jeans. Of course a red and black tube sock was to be fitted on her left arm and she did so, folding it so as her bruises were hidden. No makeup seeing as she wasn't planning on impressing anyone at work anyway- excluding the attractive architect who came in every Monday for his morning cup of coffee, but the day was a chilly Friday meaning Lynn had no desire to apply extra powder to her nose so as to say. She buttoned up a button just below her navel and soon found herself walking out the door once more, stopping in her tracks to return to her dresser for a pair of earrings. She pinched the studs into their situated spots on her earlobes and was out the door and into the kitchen. There in the dark room she flicked the switch by her fridge on, producing a sheer blanket of light before walking over to the coffee pot by the window and brewing a batch. As she waited for the spout of the kettle to begin screeching she perused through the paper, scoffing at the titles mentioning the government and tax invasion of citizens- politics wasn't Lynn's forte.

She folded the collection of papers together once the familiar pitch of the kettle sounded and got out a cup from the cabinet by her in which she poured the steaming drink. She grabbed the utensil by its handle and made her way into the living room, her bare feet producing a slapping sound as she walked and fell back into the warm and welcoming cushions of her couch, its softness engulfing her as she continued to sip on the cup of Jo in her hands. Occasionally she nicked at the dish in which it was served due to her sudden interest and intrigue peeked. It was nothing more than an obscure and plain mug; painted in lime green with lines and threads of mustard that were thin as hairs wrapping around its circumference. It was shaped like a pot for a plant, broad and wide enough to sprout a small succulent and the handle fit almost four of Lynn's fingers as she carded them around it. But yet this plain piece of clay put her into some sort of lazy trance. It was most likely due to her sleep deprivation of the previous night that she was enchanted by the mug or maybe simply because she enjoyed noting the detail and effort presented in the little fixtures she could get her clammy hands on- the answer was vague, unknown to her futile and premature comprehension and was drowned out instead by the caffeine setting into her system, now making her somewhat more awake. Soon Lynn returned to the kitchen where she downed the pot of coffee she brewed and drank it black, forgetting the tingle in her wrist and her disgust towards the political sate of her country; all these topics were redundant and irrelevant to the brunet as she tossed the cup that once fascinated her sight in the sink and prepared to leave for work, fidgeting with the cut tube sock encircling her forearm and buckling the seals on her boots before exiting the apartment.

The clouds swam in a dark gray canopy above Lynn's head, and she couldn't help but hope for a storm today seeing as they just brought a sense of comfort to her; she loved snuggling in bed for a nap with thunder and wind as her lullaby, but that was all she could hope for.

She wormed her way through the crowds forming at the roadside awaiting the traffic lights to signal for them to cross as she squirmed amongst the dozens of people, receiving an elbow to her side from time to time. Finally the little person displayed on the street stand flickered green and the mass moved forward, the members heading in different directions as did Lynn, finding the diner just a block down and jogging across the traffic and to the door of the building. Jimmying her keys into the hole, she turned the piece of metal and the lock popped open, allowing her to enter the dark room of the diner and flick the lights on. She scurried past the wooden tables all lined with napkins and condiments and past the counter, into the kitchen where she plopped her satchel down beneath a cabinet before starting up the place. The thermostat was turned on seeing as Lynn didn't enjoy running her early morning shift with her temperature dropping and dried off the dishes stacked by sink, going on with fixing up the place; setting up cutlery, providing salt shakers to all tables and so forth.

After tending to the décor of the room, Lynn went through her usual routine of tying her navy apron round her waist, sitting at the counter, and awaiting her co-worker Brady. Brady was a college graduate attempting to make some money while staying with his sister in town by working full time at the diner. He and Lynn had had their first encounter on her first day of work a year back when she reported forty minutes late barely put together and found the dark haired boy chuckling at a comic in the paper before asking for his assistance. Granted he was quite rowdy from what she knew of him, she kept her distance, but from the boring evening shifts spent flicking cashew nuts into each other's mouths from across the counter their friendship grew. And after all, Lynn was dying, intoxicated by thoughts of her enigma of a state and the events of her life, she needed a friend- Brady was always one she could call in the middle of her common crisis.

The clock ticked by as Lynn sat rolling and folding the hem of her apron between her fingers and occasionally rolling up the sock round her wrist to get a sneak peak of her bruises. Not wanting to bare the pain of working till evening due to her inactivity- her boss Carl was kind of a douche- she got to work, starting with heating up some coffee as that was the most served drink here at work. Then she wiped up the counter tops, checked the cash register and returned to her spot by the tip jar where she attempted the crossword puzzle of that morning, a small feeling of content brewing in her gut.

This was the part of her morning Lynn actually didn't dread because she enjoyed filling the blank boxes printed in the Thursday paper, like she did every day she worked at the diner. It eventually became taboo for her not to do the crosswords of the day only because no one else took interest in them but her. Brady would occasionally poke fun at Lynn for this little quirk she had, but when your time is limited, these are the things you take note of; the little things.

No sooner had Lynn propped herself up on a stool behind the counter, already excited for the challenging of her vocabulary than the front door of the café swung open and in strode none other than Brady, clad in a leather jacket and with his deep brown hair spiked routinely. He wore a lazy and almost fading grin as he hung up a mucky and dripping trench coat in the kitchen- late September rains- and maneuvered his way to the front counter where Lynn sat with the paper in her hands, though her attention was now on Brady.

"And what is a fine bird like you doing here so early?" he smiled childishly, resting a stubbly chin on his hand in front of her. Lynn let out a scoff like a laugh and shook her head. Obviously not fazed by his usual though not serious attempts at flirting, she now focused on the black and white checkers in front of her.


	3. Chapter 3

**Lynn's P.O.V:**

Brady howled with laughter, swinging an arm over my shoulder and nuzzling his nose into my hair, the smell of apricot probably suffocating him as he placed a brief kiss on the top of my head an pulled away, grinning like a child. I let out an airy chuckle and the hazel eyed cashier took a step back, his trenchcoat dancing around his knees ever so softly . I could tell by his firm and warm greeting that today, Brady was in a good mood. His hazel eyes were bright like embers of fire, burning each time he flashed a smile, and his shoulders shook faintly as he bowed his head with a smile. We always greeted each other with a pat on the shoulder or a bear hug, but never a kiss on the cheek, forehead, or the like- only on special occasions would we exchange such affection, but today, Brady decided to breakdown that wall and smother me with love. It wasn't something I didn't enjoy, but my suspicion was raised when my co-worker acted the way he did. I cocked an eyebrow at him as a smirk began to play on my lips, tugging at the corners.

"Well aren't you chipper this morning? Level up your rogue in World of Warcraft or was it something even more exciting than virtual medieval kingdoms?" I teased as I hoped off the stool I was sat on and begun walking into the kitchen, Brady following suit with a chuckle falling from his lips. He ran a hand over his face briskly, and let it fall to his side when I reached the sink and began washing my hands- never a good idea to juggle a cup of hot coffee in your hands along with newspapers and coaster for tables.

"Ah, Lynn. Always with the courtesy I see?" He smirked, walking up to me and leaned against the sink, crossing his arms over his chest. I briefly glanced his way and continued to rub between my fingers as he went on.

"Can't I be happy without being assumed to have been on the internet all night?" He feigned hurt in a desperate voice and I scoffed in return.

" Please. The only things that make you happy are women and living online. I can only assume you brought those together and spent the night watching porn?" I replied. Brady clicked his teeth and widened his eyes as he stared at the floor, almost as if guilty for what I stated.

"You're the embodiment of pessimism,"

Of course my choice of words were false. Brady was one of the most happy and content people I knew throughout my entire life and I was grateful for even knowing the guy as if I had to choose one person to rely on, he was it. The mere being around him raised my mood and each time he cracked a joke with a wiggle of his eyebrows, attempting to earn a round of cheers or told a God-awful pun that usually just got him a bunch of moans and groans of frustration, i couldn't help but snicker along. That's kind of how we became friends really. We were kindred spirits bound to form a friendship, and as soon as I caught a glimpse of Brad's vibrant personality as opposed to the usual craptastic boring cashier personality, I couldn't help but add him to my very narrow and almost empty list of friends- honestly speaking, he was probably the only one on it.

Behind his sardonic and more often than not cocky personality, lay a heart of pure gold one would never expect to see. After one conversation, you'd think his ego was bigger than his interest in even talking to you, but after spending more time around him and speaking to him more than you wished, Brady would loosen up and invite you to his apartment to play videogames or watch Grand hotel Budapest for the 100th time- or at least that's how he treated me.

It was a friendship that built on it's own, and because of mine and Brady's constant interactions, we found ourselves having one of the closest and most profound bonds; the kind that make you believe friends are more family than blood. He was always there for me and I was always there for him, being sure not to leave the other alone- we both had enough of that in our lives. After all, I wasn't the only one with and impending doom hovering over my head like a halo, as Brady too was troubled.

He was an orphan just like myself, and grew up in this state to this day. His parents were a fireman and a barista staying in Iowa before they passed, and Brad was only 16. Much like myself, his parents weren't the most financial fit, and much like my father, his father would work graveyard shifts and fight tooth and nail to put a decent meal on the table. We both weren't poverty-stricken exactly, but getting by was a struggle- we started school about two weeks into the term because of fees and we had to pack yesterday's leftovers for lunch instead spending a few dollars at the vending machine.

When he was about 11, his family struck gold, and money started spilling in through the was sudden, and Brady was no doubt skeptical about it, but in the state that he was, he accepted the gift without question. To him, it was like being stuck in a snowstorm and the only options you have are to stay out and freeze to death, or run into the lively warm mansion just a few blocks ahead- only there's a human butcher sat inside that you don't meet until you reach the upstairs bedroom. Sadly, he chose the latter. He begun going to pristine snooty rich kid schools, his mother got an entire new wardrobe and Daddy bought a new care: life was going well. But eventually when he turned 15, after climbing the steps of the house, he reached the door of the butcher's bedroom, and his father passed away at the hands of a hellhound tearing his chest open in front of both Brady and his mother's eyes. It scarred him for life, and a few months later, his mother crashed into another car on a drunken night on her way home from drowning her sorrows in alcohol.

It took him some time to open up, but one night filled with booze and marathoning How I Met Your Mother lead to both of us spitting out secrets about the supernatural which we each were surprised to hear. Not because they sounded like something out of a book or TV show canceled on NBC, but because we couldn't believe that someone else was feeling the same way we did- cheated, betrayed and grateful someone at least believed us. And so from there, as if my friendship with him wasn't already strong enough, it grew, and he came to be the brother I never had and didn't know I even wanted. As if I wasn't already coming to terms with my inevitable fate, being around Brady made me more accepting of the situation. I continued on with life like my clock wasn't ticking. Got a job, bought an apartment, and reveled in each moment I could breath air because after all, it was unchangable. The angel was gone and I wasn't even sure whether he was alive or not- for all I knew he could've been dead, and the bargain he placed on my soul sealed away with the rest.

It took months for me to be content or rather tolerant of my predicament, but it did come to pass: I was happy now. Life was no longer seen through black and white film rather a more vibrant and colourful one, and I dealt with it. I dealt with the itching and burning and occasional bleeding that came with the numerals on my wrist, and curtained it behind the lie of having a chronic disease bound to kill me within the next few years when people asked.

The only problem was lying to myself sometimes. Even when I believed I was having an utterly good day, returning home with a sore back from work and plopping into bed to falls asleep, I couldn't. Thoughts ran free in my mind that made me question my very existence, and more often than not, I wondered where this path I was on would lead me? And how would it happen? Would the angel come and reap my soul, making me endure a painful and bloody process of extraction, or would it be a numb and painless feeling? How would they find my body, and who would? I'd be damned if it was Brady to find me torn to shreds in my apartment, and because of these ideas I spent some nights tossing and turning in bed, eyelids falling shut only when the sun would peer in through the windows.

Aside from these nights though, I was happy with life. I finally found peace of mind. Or maybe I was just telling myself that- it didn't really matter, and I decided that whether or not my days went by faster and faster, I was at least tolerant of my life, and ready for death when it was to come, paying no more attention to that.

I learnt to condone it.

"I can't believe you'd say that about me. I'm like the Jimmy Fallon of our lives- hopped up on adrenaline and joy," Brady spoke with an incredulous smirk, as I turned the rusty knob of the tap and the water stopped running. I patted down my hands on the thighs of my Jeans, dragging them up and down the fabric before letting out a laugh at his response.

"Hah, nice try sweetheart, but'cha ain't foolin' anybody," my voice was sardonic to the very last bit, as I savored poking fun at Brady, until his voice filled the air in defense as we both returned to the counter, checking the clock to see when customers would begin flooding in- we had about 30 minutes or so before it struck 9:00.

"Alright, alright," he gestured with his hands as I took a seat on my stool, smirking at him with amusement. He leaned onto his elbows across me on the opposite side of the counter, and his grin grew brighter as he spoke.

"I had a date," He smiled with a wiggle of his eyebrows teasingly and my mouth dropped open in surprise, the corners curling upwards into a similar smile.

"No way! With who? Is it that Anna girl with the red hair from down the street?" I cocked an eyebrow as I asked. "Or is it Delilah? Or maybe it's a girl I don't know?"

"Actually no, you don't know her. She works down at Mclainne's as the bartender, " Brady smirked.

"You mean the one with the black hair?" I asked with confusion and he snapped his fingers in response.

"Yes! Kaitlyn" he begun," isn't she a sight for sore eyes," his gaze drifted to the ceiling as he gawked and I rolled my eyes in response. Give him a week or two and this girl would be the past, but until then, I let Brady have his moment.

"So what's this girl like?" I asked and his attention was reverted back onto me.

"Amazing Lynz, just spectacular," he beamed and I couldn't help but roll my eyes at his antics. I pulled the newspaper at my side in front of me and began to peruse through as Brady continued speaking in the back.

"She's smart, sarcastic, has great taste in music- and men," he winked, and I scoff laughed.

"Well if she's going out with you I wouldn't be so sure, handsome"

"Well I beg to differ. This girl is just out of the park perfect. She's funny too," Brady stopped in his tracks to crease his brow before continuing, "she's like you. Except way hotter and not as big of an ass,".

"Aren't you just charming?" I rolled my eyes and he laughed in response as I continued flipping through the paper, tempted to carry on with the crossword but instead tending to my conversation with Brady

"So what about you?" he suddenly asked and my eyes shot up to his face, brow knitted in confusion.

"What about me?" I asked with expectant eyes. I folded up the paper once more and rested my elbow on top of it.

"You've been out of the game long enough, don't you think it's time to jump right back in? You know? Go out, meet some guys, maybe put yourself out there a bit more?" He replied.

"No thanks. I've tasted the fruit from that tree and am not going back,".

"Why?" he pressed and my attention returned to him. I opened my mouth to speak, fumbling over my tongue but couldn't find the words to speak as if I had no answer, but I did, I just didn't want to say it.

My mouth remained open, searching for words as I tried to speak but Brad cut me off, his tone now serious as he grabbed my wrist and pulled up my glove. I let out a gasp at the sudden action but quickly shut my mouth as the brunette observed the numbers on my wrist.

"Is it because of your little tattoo?" He raised an eyebrow and I scoffed in return, pulling my arm away and tucking the glove over my forearm.

"No," I enunciated with frustration, "it's not that. I just,..." I tried to form a sentence that would get Brady off my case, but there was no point- I myself knew he answered his own question and anything said would be pointless.

I huffed in defeat and let my eyes close for a brief moment as my arms dropped to my side and dangled in place, my shame showing through my act. I opened them right away and with a sad brow, continued.

"It's just that I see no point in getting attached to something that's not even going to make it into next summer- you know that," I replied as I twiddled absently with my thumbs.

Brady sighed and traced his jaw, mouth ajar slightly as he pondered. He then turned to me, and spoke.

"Lynn," he groaned, " I thought we talked about this,"

"No, you talked, I listened," I responded and just as Brady was about to go on, I cut him off, sending him a glare of warning.

"Now it's my turn to talk," I diverted my gaze to my thumbs for a brief moment and allowed myself to breath heavily, clearing my mind as I prepped myself for what I was about to say.

"I'm not as optimistic as you, Brad. You see your life into next year, but I don't. My life comes to an end this year and as much as I want to believe that we'll cross that bridge when we get there," I laughed dryly, shaking my head as I gazed into Brady's sad eyes, "I'm done my friend. Nothing you can do is going to pull my back up to even stagger to the bridge cause I'm already dangling off the ledge." I finished with my expression already saddened like Brady's, knowing the words that had come out of me had upset me. How couldn't they? After all, he was the one trying to save my bacon in this whole mess, and telling him his efforts were pointless must've hit hard.

Brady shook his head in disbelief as he eyed me, before his brow which was once knitted in sorrow twisted into one of anger, and his eyes burned.

"No," he clenched his jaw, "you don't get to just 'dangle off the bridge' this time, okay? I won't let you give up so easily. I mean c'mon Lynn, I know you don't mean that," he exclaimed and the irritation this entire topic caused me seemed to pour out immediately.

"Yeah? How can you be so sure, Brad? For someone who's my bestfriend, you don't seem to understand me so well."

"Nah, I know you don't mean it," he grimaced.

"And how is that?"

"i know because if all that crap you just said were true,- if you meant it- you wouldn't have even considered a friendship with me," He stated almost triumphantly and I snorted in denial, despite my own mind putting into consideration what he was saying.

He could've been right. Afterall, if my mind was truly willing to give up, why would I bother attaching myself to Brady the way i did, knowing by the end of next spring I'd leave him. I bit my lip as my mind raced, but I couldn't let him change my mind now; I was ready to die, and so I let my stubbornness get the better of me, and continued to argue with him.

"Well people change over time," I rolled my eyes.

"Yeah, not so much you, Deren" he huffed just before the bell on the door chimed, and in strode two men clad in suits and trench coats hanging below their knees. One was shorter than the other, with almost emerald green eyes and spiked golden hair, where as the other who seemed the height of a titan had hair to his shoulders, tucked behind his ears and only a few strands falling out of place. I quickly glanced at the door as they stepped in and my eyes lingered on both of them, observing them before they shot to the clock. I realized it was already twelve past nine, and by now the diner was supposed to be open for business.

Brady and I both exchanged bitter glares before he left into the kitchen, most likely prepping himself for the day and I remained to tend to our two new customers who were approaching me at the counter. I straightened out my apron hung around my waist and leaned onto the counter ,arms outstretched with palms flat on the surface.

"Hi, what can I do for you?" I smiled politely and the two men responded with a nod of the head and a brief tug of the lips before they returned to their no nonsense expressions.

"Agents Miller and Collins," the shorter of the men spoke with a gruff and husky voice as they pulled out their badges and briefly flashed them in front of me.

"We're here investigating a case on the death of Arnold Morris back in '05, along with the string of deaths in the past 3 months in this area,"...

**So feel free to comment, favorite and follow this story as it would mean alot to me, and also to tell me what you thought of the chapter? Do you guys like this story so far?**  
**Thanks for reading, have a nice day.**


	4. Chapter 4

_*Two Days Before*_

The bunker was filled with thick dead silence as the wind whisked through the hallways gracefully, bringing on a chill with its movements, and the dull tawny light of one of the library reading lamps illuminated the space where Dean sat with his back to the entrance of the room, face buried in a book. _Heptameron ('Seven Days'),_ one of the many books that had been sitting in a box on the top shelf for months, undiscovered until the Elder Winchester knocked it over while cleaning a few days back. Dean had seemed to have found the stash of the Men of Letters books which they had never taken a look at, and thought it useful to finally crack one open and see what it was they were missing out on all this time, hoping there would be even the tiniest lead on the case they were hunting.

Dean lightly drummed his fingers on the table as he stared down intently at the book, trying to find a clue on what he and Sam were even hunting when the younger Winchester ambled his way into the room, approaching the table where his brother was sat.

"I just got off the phone with Cas." Sam announced, dragging out one of the chairs from under the table and taking a seat, "He says that while he couldn't find that many leads on this case, he did come across something last night."

Dean's eyes flew to his brother as he shut the book. He pushed it in front a little and leaning back into his chair heavily, knitted his brow befuddled.

"What is it?" asked the elder Winchester, tilting his head to the side subtly. Sam sighed, and waiting a few seconds leaned forward onto his elbows, a grim expression dawning on his face.

"He said he couldn't find any relations between the vics down at the morgue this morning..All different social status and life descriptions, only thing tying them together being some markings on their bodies', but they don't all even match.."He paused when Dean groaned aggitatedly and smacked his hand to the side of his face.

"Great."he grunted, rubbing his finger against his temples in a circular manner. He was hoping at lest Castiel would be a source of information, but with his attempts in vain, Sam and Him were no farther than the 126 page of the book.

"But,..."Sam begun cautiously, and Dean's rotating fingers came to a halt when he looked up at his brother. His head was still tilted down as he glared at Sammy intently.

"But?" he cocked an eyebrow, fingers twitching in mid air to return to the surface of his skin.

"But, he did find _some_ sort of a lead- at least he thinks he did." Sam let out a heavy sigh, and leaning back in his chair, said "He says that he's been digging up some dirt on all the victims in the past days to try and get us somewhere, so he's been visiting the remains of all their houses."

Dean remained with his chin tucked into his neck, pondering what the situation meant before lifting it up and sitting upright, a quizzical scowl playing on his face.

"He said everything seemed subjectively-normal about the places, except the fact that almost every house he went to had a lingering aroma of burnt plants in one room each: all except Kailey Beal's, and Timothy's."

"So like yarrow? Do you think we're dealing with a witch?" Dean asked, eyebrows cocked and knitted.

"He didn't say what exactly, but he said it smelled something like..."pausing for a moment, he drew the word out unsurely, "_Pot."_

_"P-pot?"_ Dean asked incredulously, surprised by his brother's response and Castiel's knowledge of local drugs.

"Uh, yeah. I don't know how Cas even knows that, but all I know is he said that areas- often by exists like the windows or doors- smelled of Marijuana." Sam shrugged, staring at his brother who was slowly tracing his fingers along the edge of the book.

"How many houses has he been to?" asked the elder Winchester

"So far four- whatever's left of them. Tim Mason's house down in Pennsylvania as well as the Sterlings' about an hour away, Levron's on Tuesday and Kailey Beal's just yesterday. Visited for just a few minutes before he left."Sam replied.

"Why did he leave?" asked Dean.

"Didn't say. He only mentioned the weird aromas, before bringing up the guy from last week."

Dean bit down on his lip and sighed, relieved they had gotten another lead. A small one, but a lead nonetheless. He didn't have time to wonder about Cas' reported pot-smell though at his brother's last words.

Working this case had been running for about two weeks for the boys, with Castiel and some other hunters in the area being their information sources and Garth on the lookout for anything fishy whilst the Winchesters dug into the books and scouted out the towns nearby. It all started a while back when Dean was having his morning cup of joe reading the paper and came across an article talking about the death of a young art-grad somewhere in Seattle the previous night. She had been found dead in her apartment by the landlord when he arrived at her place that morning and immediately called the police upon seeing young Tracy Ole'man's burnt corpse splayed out on her bedroom floor. Dean had read that Mr Skeener- the Landlord of the flat Tracy lived in- was coming to pick up the long overdue rent the art student had promised him when he last came over the previous month. He stated how Tracy was no stranger to not answering her door when the 28th rolled up and the bills needed paying, or even picking up the phone when Bart tried to call her. Ever since she had moved into the run-down building six months prior to her death, she was known as the 'flat rat' by majority of the inhabitants, fleeting from paying rent, or pitching in some money to fix the residential heater that worked on the shower water when asked by her flatmates. When Dean read this, he felt a pang of pity towards Tracy himself knowing the struggle of a tragedous youth like she had. Her mother died in a car accident on her way from the airport when returning from Oslo while visiting her sister. She and Tracy's father never had the perfect marriage, so constant trips away from home to escape her drunk of a husband were nothing special. The apparent accident was in late November, and with the roads being ice-slicked around that time, the car flew right off the highway and into a nearby bush, leaving all passengers dead. Having found out her mother died the next day, Tracy was left to be raised by her father who constantly mistreated her, leading her to Maine to study. She barely made it there though, but that all changed about a month back as Mr. Skeener stated. He claimed that she had finally "turned her life around" and "got all her ducks in a row" and was no longer a hot mess, now paying the rent in time and looking well-off physically rather than her zombie-described appearance from all the weight of her life, but it was all cut off when she passed away. Apparently her bedside lamp tipped over onto the rug and started a fire. It spread onto her mosquito net and she burnt to death.

When Dean read the article, his instinctive reaction was analyzing whether it was a case or not, and whether he and Sam were to take it up considering how free they were, but he quickly diminished it almost the second the idea popped into his head, thinking it just another depressing regular in the obituaries. Being a hunter, Dean knew that grief was all around. There were tons of people he and Sammy had dealt with in similar situations, and in the cases something went wrong and they didn't make it, it would hurt. But it was a part of life, and the more the boys faced it over the years with all the hunts and cases they had been on, they learned to move past it. Immediately after reading about Tracy Ole'man, Dean checked on the sports, noted the winning scores and shut the paper, carrying on with his activities for that day, not thinking much of the story. It went on like that for a few more days with the boys not thinking much of Tracy's death and it's relation to the supernatural, but that wasn't until a few days later when more bodies started to pile up.

The tabloids were filled with stories on the deaths happening one after the other for the past two weeks, and the state's common belief it was some freak epidemic spreading throughout New York and neighboring cities. This came to the knowledge of the Winchesters the night they were catching up on the FA league Dean had even keeping tabs on for that month when half time came on, and there had been another reported death on the news. What peeked the Winchesters' interest was that the deaths occurring between intervals of three days happened merely a few miles out Tracy's neighborhood and that both incidents bore no witnesses when they happened in averagely populated areas. The first victim was a bartender named Stewart Tolek who too was found dead in his house as well as the second Kailey who like Tracy was finishing her senior year of college. Once the broadcast was streamed, Dean immediately thought back to the sad story from last week of the "flat rat" out in Seattle and her relation to the new corpses, making him and Sam begin looking into these deaths, finding that there actually was a case here. After all, what are the chances of three people of about the same age group all dying in the same week and their bodies being discovered in their crowded homes but yet without any witnesses? It wasn't until the next week, with Sam and Dean digging into the case that they had come up to the surprising realization that all victims had experienced similar major life changes as Tracy did before her death. About three weeks earlier, Stew had come up with the money to pay off his wife's alimony after being jobless for six months and working the taps in a local bar which was known for its ramshackled and beat down state, although still selling, and Kailey had just managed to file and win her first case in court concerning a man who's bees on a local farm had been reportedly stinging the nearby children and was being sued by the parents, earning big money two months before death after a year period of dealing with narcotic addiction and living off stolen bread crumbs and stale beer she'd get every evening at the bar a few streets away from her apartment. The rest of the victims that died in the following weeks all fit the memo of "street rats" and some reportedly unknowns up until a few weeks before their deaths. The boys wondered why the cases weren't bigger and more out there, with people trying to get involved to stop of the trail of deaths figure out the cause of it, thinking it was all so ordinary, but realized soon that it was because they were seen as insignificant when eventually the obituaries stopped being streamed. In the end, what were a few almost homeless bartenders, and barely self sustainable kids struggling to get by to the community other than scum street rats?

Sam and Dean decided to stick to their rolls in the whole situation while Deaths continued occurring, the lack of any leads utterly agitating. A few days went by and finally a lead came up at the morgue when Sam and Dean went to examine the bodies which had been collecting over the course of the weeks. Whilst speaking to the doctor that day, Dean had come to learn that the first five bodies that had been sent in for postmortem had been cleared and shipped our to the families of the deceased for the funerals before both Winchesters could get to them. As soon as they heard this, the boys called up all the hunters they could get their hands on to know if anyone had been tracking the case, getting Jody and Garth involved, but no-one had reported even being to Manhattan, and when Sam and Dean heard of this, they called up Castiel for more help, hoping that with him at their side, the following days would be more successful, and to their favor they were when the deaths begun going down slowly by slowly, the intervals of days growing bigger until it was radio silent, and there were no more reported deaths for another three weeks. In that time, finding it needful to stay alert and make sure that the deaths would stop permanently, Sam and Dean sought out to find who it was that had been trying to cover up the deaths in the past month and particualrly _why_ they did it. It wasn't until the previous week that they had come up with something upon digging up old case files in the local bureaus.

As Dean interrogated some suspects they brought in, Sam had been rummaging through the documents in the sheriff's front desk when he had come across and old case file from a few years back, one about Arnold Morris, a businessmen arrested after a murder of a couple in their home, and sentenced to execution five months from his trial after uncovering a ton of other underground deaths. At first glance, the younger Winchester thought it to be just another psycho killer. There was supernatural bad crawling the scrapes of the earth, but there was also human bad, like this reported inmate. Sam was just about to throw out the file, but ceased thinking that when he read through the case, learning that a only a few days after Arnold had been brought in, the place burned down in a mysterious fire. When Arnold was brought into the morgue from the crime scene, his body was barely distinguishable, no-one could even be sure it was him, but the body was retrieved from his cell and still bore some sort of resemblance. The two medics who had brought him in examined his body thoroughly, run some tests, and the cops took a few pictures. Pictures which displayed a falayed and crisply burnt body falling apart- but odly enough, in one of the pictures of Arnie's body, he had an imprint on his forearm. A symbol of sorts.

The case had been closed five years ago, the court diminishing trial but Sam managed to slip away with the file having bid the sheriff goodbye. That night he and Dean called in Cas for some help. He couldn't do much out of lack of knowledge of what the imprint meant or what it was related to, but all he coudl tell for now was that it was biblical, stating he had seen it somewhere undisclosed in his mind before. They continued working the the case and while talking to a few gargoyle angels in the city, the angel managed to report back to the Winchesters with news of Arnold, stating that while it wasn't direct, it was still valid as he reported a young man- his nephew- he was usually seen traveling the streets of Manhattan with who was alive, usually in a certain diner somewhere downtown where they had breakfast on most occasions. He was a regular at the diner even without his uncle, and had seemingly befriended most of it's staff, although he kept his distance, not making any real ties. He only ever spoke of things like the weather, sports- insignificant things, so it was going to be hard even holding a conversation with this guy, but the angel disclosed more, reporting a lady who was at the trial when Arnold was sentenced to prison, and left town the week after She was the only persona from the trial who Nehemiah had seen wandering the streets who was actually there that day. She fled town after being brought in as a suspect for the arson case at the prison, but had been seen wandering the streets just recently. Sam and Dean took what Cas gave them, packed up their things and were planning on heading off to New York the following week, leaving the angel to continue examining the vics' bodies which were still being brought in.

"You got the location?" Dean asked, trailing his fingers along the title indented in the leather cover of the book.

"Cas texted me the address." Replied Sam, reaching into his pocket to retrieve his phone as he read out the message, "Turing Drive, block 5O8. Said that Mrs. Denver's sister has been seen on that street a few times."

"Well lets get going then," the elder Winchester announced, getting out from his seat and grabbing the book before placing it under his arm, but Sam stopped him with his hand, unsure that they should barge into the cafe just like that without any knowledge of what was awaiting them. The younger Winchester was always more critical with his approach of the two, and knew that his elder brother's way would usually come with consequences he couldn't bear.

"Uh, Dean- don't you think we should at least know who to look for?" he asked, his hand finding it's way back to his side.

"We do- the lady from the trial and Arnie's nephew." the green-eyed hunter replied, putting the book down as he reached for his jacket.

"Yeah, but where will even find this girl Dean?" pointed Sam.

"We'll ask around, talk to a few locals, visit the nearby bars and restaurants. It's not that hard, Sammy." Dean replied, shrugging on his coat and picking up the book once again. Grabbing his keys he turned to his brother who was already sold on leaving with him, but was making sure he was thorough.

"I know but- this girl was brought in as one of the people cops thought burnt the place down and thereafter fled town." Sam licked his lips, glaring at his brother, "we're not even sure she's still around. And the kid could be anywhere in the city: it's Manhattan."

Reaching into his pockets, dean retrieved his FBI badge, examined it and placed it back before walking out the room.

"Trust me, Sammy. We'll find them." eh shouted back, and the younger Winchester followed sourly.

_*Now*_

Lynn fumbled with her tongue in her mouth as it appeared to have gotten a lot heavier all of a sudden, staring back and forth between the two men and tried to utter a response.

"Excuse me?"she said, confusion over riding her features. Both agents seemed a bit taken back by her response, and the shorter of the two- agent miller- tried to repeat himself.

"Uhm, I'm agent Miller, this is my collegue agent Collins," The shorter of the men spoke, but the onyx haired girl didn't seem to interested in the introduction and cut straight to business.

"Why are you here?" She inquired with her brow knitting on instinct from the disarrayed state of her mind, both men gaped at her with wide eyes. Lynn could tell by their expressions that she had disoriented whatever 'normal' approach to peole they usually had, but knew that the time to dwell on her actions was in the near future. Now she was paying attention to what words were coming out of agent Collins mouth as he took the mic.

"Uhm, miss,we're FBI and we're here to-," as the brown-haired man towering over both her and his partner in height tried to vocalize his statement, Lynn interupted him.

"No, I know who you are, agents.I'm not daft," She cautiously begun, heart in her throat as she scrutinized both officers,"What I want to know, is what are you doing here- in Manhattan? That part I didn't get."

Both men, obviously a bit taken back by the waitress' actions, tried to answer her question, talking over each other in attempt and rushing their words until Agent collins' eyes turned to her as he reached into the front pocket of his coat. He retrieved a tawny and faded newspaper strip which had been folded and tucked away and placed it onto the counter.

Lynn stared intently at the large man towering over her, and reached her hand over to his side of the counter to pull it closer.

"Sanctum case back in '05," Agent miller stated from the side of his partner, staring at her solemnly. Lynn merely pulled the piece of paper up to her eyes as she read the headline.

_Local Entrepreneur Arnold Morris arrested for murder of Patricia and Roy Deren and illegal possession of and his people sentenced to ten year imprisonment after Sister of the deceased Patricia Deren files case a few weeks after her sister's death. Court case scheduled for November._

It was silent, and had Lynn not heard the clatter of one of the plates Brady was washing fall to the ground and shatter, she would've remained silent for more than the already wasted eleven seconds. Her eyes which had appeared to be glued to the paper in her hands immediately skittered to the busboy kneeling by the sink as he picked up the shards of the dish. She could tell by his skittish and rigid movements that Brady was still irked over their little conversation prior the arrival of the FBI. He never really took conflict too well seeing as his growing up environment wasn't all that stable. She had learned that about him throughout their time working together whenever he would get jittery when the manager called him out for his poor punctuality, and he would begin fidgeting about and whinnying about the double standards of the café which only Lynn laugh the more. At first it only came in handy for laughs and giggles over Marilyn's little attacks on the brunette which happened quite often, but over time it had also come to be extremely salient for Lynn in finding out what was going on in Brady's head. She soon learned that when his mind was flaring with distraught or grief, his hands and feet were constantly in motion, causing different kinds of accidents to fall through. He had even once jabbed a fork in his own hand at dinner with his Uncle Russel at his uncle's mention of his unpaid student loans, and she could tell now his current mood was no different than that of that night.

Lynn remained staring at Brady. She was then just about to rush to his side to help him clean up the mess, when she felt a warm hand on her shoulder.

"Ma'am, are you okay?" asked agent Miller, gripping his fingers onto the fabric of Lynn's shirt. She quickly turned around to face him.

"Yeah, I'm fine..sorry about," she said in a more alive and chipper tone as the agent retracted his hand, but viscerally Lynn knew that what she was far from it.

It was all so alien for her to even associate herself with her past now. She had moved away, got a new job, and started a new life with a new name, and over the years she had come to forget about her broken childhood by telling herself that she needn't pity herself- reminding herself every morning that many people had it just as bad if not worse. And as Lynn went on with her life, she found that she had truly come the closest to normal life she could ever have, and was genuinely happy. But with the two men standing in front of her declaring that they wanted to speak to her about the death of her parents and more so the death of the man who killed them, she knew that she'd trigger some sort of attachment to her past that she had no desire to have if she did say anything about the case. She knew that even if it did start out small, trauma was always a hard thing to run away from, and feared it would eventually spiral out of control- but she also knew just as well; she was strong, and in her stubborn and persistent ways, the grey-eyed girl always found a way to worm her way out of a sticky situation.

Her mind was at war knowing that when taken for interrogation, the bigger part of her- the one that thought she could handle it- would decide to re-open that chapter of her life out of greatly ambitious assumptions . That she'd manage to revisit all those memories and past events and come back sane without a scratch on her conscience- but on the other end, she feared she was always too ambitious, and that would be always be the cause of her downfall.

_Manhattan Federal Facility burns down in tragic fire. 71 Survivors, 15 causualities, the rest declared dead._

"Uhm, yeah..." she muttered almost to herself, and the two gentlemen exchanged weary looks. Lynn didn't mind their critical eyes though, and tried her best to fathom what was going on at the moment.

Arnie's name was ever since foreign to the raven-haired girl after the incident, and hearing it bellowed out in the open by two police officers with a mention of following deaths in the area made her blood run cold on spot. She wasn't scared, or worried, or frightened out of her wits,- but Lynn was merely curious as to why all of this was happening. Why were the feds here about the man who killed her parents? She didn't have much time to delve into her thoughts because of the stares coming from both agents, so Lynn decided the best thing to do at the moment was get rid of them, and for now not assosciate herself with the authorities until she was fully sorted out.

Lynn's fingers twitched at her side, and huffing to yourself she turned to both agents.

"Who sent you to me, officers?" She almost whispered as her eyes bounced between both men and her hand which was placed on the counter with the paper beneath it flexed in tension.

The agent's stared at Lynn skeptically for a while as they examined her. If this girl was supposed to somehow give them a lead on this case, then they were going no-where, that they knew. She was being too stubborn to co-operate, and this only made their suspicion of what her role in all this was rise.

"The bureau, who else?" Agent Collins stated uncertainly. His partner remained silently watching the conversation at the side as he lightly drummed his fingers on the metal of the counter.

"I'm sorry officers, but unless this has anything to do with assorted cakes and condiments, I'm afraid I can't help you with this." she stated with disinterest in her dull grey eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. She was oblivious of it, but Lynn's glove seemed to have rolled up a little from the contact and a bit of her wrist was now exposed, going unnoticed by everyone.

"Well we're not asking." Agent Miller declared sternly and Lynn turned to give him a glare as he continued "This is a federal investigation, so we're sorry, M'aam but you're going to have to comply." He triumphed.

Agent Collins nudged his partner with his elbow and the blonde haired man rolled his eyes at the others antics, obviously thinking now not the time for chivalry

Lynn huffed in defeat and anxiously pulled her lip between her two teeth. Growing up on her own, she had learnt the rules of persuasion and how to get her way in a tight situation with all sorts of tricks, but she also knew that despite her attempts to sway the two men from interrogating her, this was a case she couldn't win. She tried to put on a tough and nonchalant bravado about the whole situation, but her little mannerisms that slipped through the facade gave away how frightened and nervous she was internally, Agent Miller obviously picking up on these vibes. No surprise,Lynn thought. He's a fed, and she was merely a waitress with a knack in swindling herself a bit of cash- but nothing that could go unnoticed by this man's eye. She threw him some respect after all.

After wracking her mind and trying to come up with a verdict, Lynn then decided that it would be most wise for now to drop her act and at least in the smallest way possible co-operate with Agent's Collins and Miller. They probably were even still here with her because of how un-orthodox and odd she was reacting to their questions and the entire suspicious vibe she was giving off. She figured soon enough, they would take her up as a suspect and things would get even messier. After all, she was acting overly strange, even in her opinion. But then again, the whole situation that day was strange, and you couldn't really blame her.

She shut her eyes for a brief moment, gathering the spirits for what was coming next and turned to the more friendly and approachable of the agents, Agent Collins. The entire time they were there, Lynn couldn't help but notice how Agent Miller kept on staring at her like she had murdered someone in cold blood; but then again, for all they knew, she could have.

"I could help you officers with a little source of information for the time being, but only on one condition," She coaxed, crossing her arms tighter around her torso and Agent Miller's eyes which were rested on her sly and plotting expression suddenly drifted to her wrist.

"What would that be, miss- Crawford." he paused, eyes darting to her fake name tag. Lynn never noticed the blonde agent's eyes shift, and continued talking to the brown haired officer.

"I don't have to be the source." She announced and the diner was dead silent.

'This must be a joke' agent Collins thought.

"Look, miss, we understand if this is for some reason making you uncomfortable, but this is a federal case, and as declared by the law we are going to need you to co-operate,"Miller stated convincingly, but Lynn played him off, shaking her nod nonchalantly as he spoke.

"No, " she declared with a somber expression, "As we've both noticed, officer, this entire situation brings on discomfort to me. Not only is this investigation abrupt and conflicting with my work schedule- which should be reason enough for my decline- but excuse me if I don't want to be made feel like a criminal because the FBI have decided I should be the first person to provide them with information on a case closed nearly eight years ago."

By now, Lynn's grey embers were flaring with irritation as she stared down the two men infront of her in silence, hoping she was doing a good job in scaring them off. None of the two dared to speak for the first bit of it, and she saw that if she could squeeze out of this with the little sliver of hope she had left, she was home free. The silence was broken when Agent Miller cleared his throat roughly.

He opened his mouth to speak, and shutting it along with his eyes looking defeated, rasped his reply.

"Who's this source?" He asked solemnly which had seemed to have taken Agent collins - and Lynn as well to be honest- as he gaped at his partner incredulously.

"Dean, what are y-..." The brown-haired agent fumbled with his words. Agent Miller only shook his head dismissively at his partner and cocked an eyebrow at Lynn. She was honestly just as taken by surprise and stuttered her response.

"Uhm, it's Brady over there," She affirmed shakily, jerking a thumb behind her.

In the back, another loud crash was heard as Brady disposed of the shattered dishes in the dumpster and Lynn couldn't help but glance back to see what was going on. Luckily, there was no chaos in practice and the only seemingly threatening aspect of the entire situation was the little gash on the back of Brady's palm he was to tend to.

Agent Collins called out once again, obviously irritated by the conversation not going anywhere, and befuddled over why Lynn wasn't complying with the protocol. He had had some tough cases in the past, but none with someone so complex and stubborn.

"Look, miss, we don't know what you're getting at here but-..."

Agent Miller cut him off immediately though, as he took Lynn up on her offer, sliding the folded newspaper from flat under her palm.

"Get him over," he announced, tucking the paper into his coat. Lynn right away scrambled to the kitchen to grab Brady as both men turned on their heels and begun to make their way to a booth in the corner of the room.

"Dude, what the hell was that?Cas says that she's the only one who can get us a lead." Agent Collins bickered in whisper and Miller sighed aggitatedly. He slipped his way into the booth over to the window and tried to calm his partner down.

"Relax, man." He cooed, reaching out for a menu and flipping through it with interest "I know what I'm doing here- trust me."

Agent Collins scoffed in return and leaned back in his seat heavily, "Dean, it's just..."

He let out a sigh of defeat while Dean's green eyes jumped up from behind the menu ontohis brother's face, and back down to the panflet in his hands.

"Trust me...We got her."

**Here you guys go, another chapter I've been working on for a while now i hope you enjoyed. Thank you to GraceSong for letting me know something was up with this chapter so I could fix it. hopefully you guys can read and enjoy it now.**

**Please, review, follow and favorite as it would mean a lot to me. More to come in the future, and I'd love for you guys to let me know what you think of the story so far.**

**Thanks.**


	5. Chapter 5

Sam quirked a confused brow at his brother, and bit his lip. This couldn't be the girl they were looking for- the girl from the trial all those years back. At least Sam didn't believe it. Reported by the gargoyles whom they had spoken with, that girl had chestnut hair down to her back in large tube-like curls whereas this waitress' hair, much as it was coiled into big ringlets nestled on her head, was as black as onyx, breaching about one centimeter beyond her shoulders. She had bands falling over half of her face in a swoop of raven, and more so looked younger than the description castiel gave the Winchesters. Not only her appearance denied the notion that this was who they were looking for, but what made Sam check Lynn off the list the most was her very being in Manhattan, in this diner, at this moment. As reported by the angel, the lady from the trial had fled the city and had only been seen returning a few times before leaving once more, Lynn however seemed to have a regular long term job here meaning she most likely was also settled here. It all didn't add up.

Sam was skeptical, and not wanting to just jump into things when numerous people's lives were on the line, he decided it would be best to scan the city a bit more and learn more about the citizens before bombarding them with possibly false accusations. He and Dean would come back to the diner after they got a few more leads around Manhattan and could figure out her part in the whole situation. Sam knew there was no way this could be the girl- the woman, as Cas described- they were looking for, at least he thought she wasn't. There was a possibility she was part of the scandal with the random deaths- anyone was- but if at all she did, it was a minuscule role to play. That he was sure of- or at least tried to convince himself.

"What makes you think that this girl is even remotely related to the case, let alone with such a drastic role to play?" The younger Winchester asked, eyes reverting back to the counter where the two stood merely moments back. Dean put aside the menu, already memorizing his order for some key lime pie and black coffee and answered his brother.

"Because my gut tells me so, Sammy. She has something to do with this case- I can feel it." He said.

"Your gut?" Sam asked incredulously and Dean nodded, his no-nonsense expression twisting into place. He leaned back into his seat.

"You saw the way she was acting the entire time we were there? All nerves and no spine- the girl's got something to hide," he announced.

"Or maybe she was just nervous because she's never had any kind of federal interaction in her life? She could've just been spooked." Sam replied, returning his eyes to his brother's somber face, "We've handled those kinds of people tons of times, Dean- not everyone can handle your intimidation and sass like I can."

"Oh please, I tone it down on the job." Dean defended and Sam only chuckled, shaking his head.

"Yeah sure you do," he muttered and reached over to the other end of the table to grab the menu and peruse through it. Meanwhile, as Sam filed through the panflet, Dean's mind begun to wonder and he bit his lip. Maybe Sam was right. Maybe he was just over-thinking the most insignificant things in the case because he was so desperate for the lead. Lynn definitely knew something about Arnold somehow, but maybe she wasn't really playing the game much as observing it from the sidelines. Worked had him irked up of late with the other cases he and his brother handled, but with this one, he felt he was hitting rock bottom. He was tired. The mark of Cain imprinted on Dean's hand never made it easy for him to go about life and things kept on getting worse and worse in the past months as the Mark took over more and more. He got it about a month before the case begun, and everything seemed subjectively normal for the boys' lives, with nothing out of the ordinary as outcome of the mark, but as time regressed, things got worse and worse and to ignore its effects on him, Dean threw himself into work. He worked a few vamp nests all over the country, some salt and burns- the beginner's stuff- and it had helped at first, no doubt, but that changed with this case. It was a hard nut to crack, with little to no leads at all where he and Sam looked and with the sources they had. It was the first case in months to actually stump the elder Winchester completely; to make him feel powerless after all those successful and effortless hunts int he past months. And Dean was coming to realize tat maybe this wouldn't provide him with the sense of satisfaction that he craved; with the rush and life the Mark had drained from him. The past few weeks had been definitely been tough no matter how much Dean tried to deny it, and so maybe yes, with all the exhaustion, maybe he was looking too much into things, searching for any kind of lead to find out about Arnold Morris and all the Death's going on. Maybe Lynn wasn't the exact girl they were looking for, but Dean still had a feeling that she could at least get them some sort of lead. That's what he thought...

The green-eyed hunter dragged a hand along his stubbly jaw before speaking.

"I'll try not to jump to conclusions," he sighed before craning his neck to the side and finally spotting Lynn behind the counter with Brady at her side. They made their way over to the boys' table where they were adjusting themselves to their more official statures rather than those of slacking hunters in a diner as they formerly were.

Lynn awkwardly smiled as she came to a stop at the boys' table, jamming her hands in her pockets and just itching to get as far away from the boys as possible. She nudged an elbow into her friend's side, making him shoot her a brief death glare before averting his attention to the 'agent' in front of them.

"Agents,..." the brunette begun, nodding at either men, a gesture both Sam and Dean returned.

"Brady...Have a seat." Dean greeted as he gestured at the empty space aside his brother.

As Brady fixed himself into the booth, the elder Winchester's green eyes flickered over to Lynn who was standing by with her hands crossed over her chest.

"Thank you for your assistance," he chided, and the black-haired girl nodded nonchalantly.

"Sure thing," she replied and gently drummed her fingers on her arms, "Can I get you officers anything?"

"Coffee- black, for the both of us, and a slice of your key lime pie." the blonde-haired hunter advised, but Sam shot him a glare from across the table as Lynn scribbled down the orders onto he notepad.

"I'll have a coffee too," Brady added while Dean raised his eyebrow at Sam who just rolled his eyes.

"Uhm, excuse my partner he always puts his stomach before his mind even on a job," Sam smiled at the waitress, leaving his brother staring on in confusion.

"We'll just have the coffee- we won't be here too long hopefully, thanks." He instructed, and she nodded, glancing at Dean who was wearing an obvious scowl on his face. They had been driving all morning and had the chance to grab a bite here at this diner but Sam had to ruin everything with his efficiency. Dean definitely put his stomach before his mind in cases like these, but with his little brother denying him meals, he was ready to start putting his fist to Sammy's jaw instead.

"Alright then...Your coffee will be right up." Lynn forced a smile. Stuffing the notepad in her pocket, while Sam said something to Brady and Dean rolled his eyes. Picking up the menus, she turned on her heel to return to the kitchen in hurry, but felt a warm hand grip her arm in the process. It was just above the sleeve of her glove, and the contact made Lynn's eyes go wide right away from fear of having her arm exposed.

The black-haired waitress shot around to find the elder Winchester who was sneaking a quick glance at his chattering brother, and she jerked her arm away immediately, a prominent frown forming on her lips. Luckily, the glove remained in place, and she was safe, but on top of such a close call, Dean was staring at her, and she feared that he could sense how much panic was filled in that minuscule fraction of time whereby her skin was nearly naked.

"What?" she quipped. She was probably being ruder than needed, but the whole morning had taken a toll on Lynn, and having someone have seen her wrist would've been catastrophic- she had at least a bit of right to be agitated.

Dean seemed to have not caught the crass tone in the waitress' voice, or he frankly didn't care- but he went about his order in a normal whisper tone like nothing had just happened.

"I'll be having the pie after all." He whispered. Lynn clamped her lips together into a straight line and nodded.

"I'll bring it by in a bit." She spurted before ambling back to the counter and disappearing into the kitchen, leaving the three men together at their booth. She was trying to be as fast as she could to get away from the two agents, and with Brady distracting them, now was her chance to escape.

Once Lynn disappeared from the room, more customers begun filing into the diner and Brady leaned over the table, staring at Dean as he spoke.

"So officers, what exactly is it you want from me?" he said, arching his eyebrow. Dean adjusted himself in his seat, cleared his throat and spoke.

"Tell us what you know about Arnold Morris, deceased Autumn 2008..."

Lynn scrambled to the back of the kitchen where her bag and coat were hung by the exit and lacing them both around her body in their respective places, tucked her keys away in the pocket of her ebony black leather jacket. She checked the stove, making sure all the tops were off and no kettles were spurting liquids from their nozzles, got all the clean dishes out of the wash before stacking them on the counter and tried to make sure that everything in the diner was in place before she left.

Lynn's day had gotten off with a rough start with the FBI coming in and the bruises on her forearm evident with pain throughout the morning as her nerves were all around wracked. The previous night she had gone to bed without cleaning the cuts on her skin, her judgement fogged by sleep making her think it unimportant, and was now suffering the whole day with an intense gnawing pain at the surface of her arm She had tried to ignore the frustration her wounds were causing her on the way to work seeing as they weren't buzzing with life as much, but as time passed the ache got stronger and stonger. Merely a few minutes back, it had gotten too much for Lynn to handle and she was dreading even getting out of bed to come to work. She just wanted to be away from the buzzing of Manhattan that early, and the FBI's arrival had only stressed the poor waitress out more, even when she thought things really couldn't get any worse. When Lynn realized that she could be the subject of the interrogation at the mention of Arnold only a few moments back, her heart dropped to her toes, and she realized that after all these years of running her past might have been catching up with her.

She knew she was being a bit paranoid, over-thinking every each and one of things that happened the moment both Men in suits stepped into the diner and brought up her parents murder, but you could never be too careful. Just to be sure nothing in her life was at stake, Lynn decided to make a break for it while both agents were occupied with Brady, grabbing her jacket and sneaking out through the backdoor after leaving them their coffee She decided that having taken the day off, she could at least get some nice rest and relaxation from the past week and maybe tend to her wounds. Anything to get her mind off of things for even the smallest bit and 'before she knew it, things would be better' as she told herself as she scurried out the building from the back door, locking it tight. It was raining when she got out, and a small drop of water splashed onto her pink nose when she got out. The heel of her boot hit the soggy tarmac of alley she stood in, producing a squelching sound from beneath her foot and after throwing on her hood, Lynn begun to stride out of the alley and onto the bright and lively streets of New York.

*Back at the diner*

Brady sipped gingerly on his tepid coffee as the hazel-eyed man at his side asked him another one of their 'standard interrogation' questions which they had been drawing answers out of him for the past twenty minutes.

"So how did you know Mr. Morriss exactly?" Sam- or Agent Collins as he introduced himself as- asked, glancing around the room as more and more customers begun to come in, leaving almost all the booths and seats occupied.

"I didn't, per se." Brady explained, taking a sip of his drink and scratching his stubble when some slipped onto his jaw, "I just knew him as one of the local entrepreneurs. New York's pretty huge, so you don't exactly know majority of your neighbors, but this guy moved around quite a lot for work and even dropped by the diner some times."

"How often did he drop by?" asked Sam.

"Not too often; maybe once every two or three weeks for just a little bit. He never really sat down for a meal or anything. He would just come in here to meet up with his son and maybe give him some cash from time to time." He replied.

"Morriss had a son?" Dean asked from across the table and the brown-haired man nodded.

"Well no actually- his nephew, Josh. He'd call him his 'ol' boy' at first whenever they came in for breakfast, so we just kind of assumed he was his dad at first, but later on we talked to the kid, and found out he was his nephew." Brady explained, "Told us that he had no parents and was being supported by his uncle Morriss, so he kind of adopted the nickname "old boy" seeing as he was kind of like his surrogate son... At least that's what he told us."

"How old is the kid?" Sam asked, the brunette waiter slurping up his coffee with thirst from talking.

He placed it down on the table before answering Sam "Not much younger than me I think... 24 or so."

"And how often did he come in without his uncle?"

"About every week," Brady answered solemnly, "Got the same order every time; French toast with Greek yoghurt on the side and black coffee."

Dean sat up straight in his seat all of sudden before saying "Well you sure are precise."

"Well I like to pay attention." Brady commented and the elder Winchester couldn't help but roll his eyes at the snarkiness. He never liked competition.

Both men were silent, exchanging glances with one another as Brady watched before he cleared his throat and spoke, "So can I get back to work now?"

"I think we're done here." Dean declared. All three men stood on their feet, and having bid Sam and Dean Goodbye, Brady returned to his shift at the cashier, finding Marie one of the other employees almost pulling her hair out from tending to the customers on her own.

Both Winchesters shuffled out of the booth orderly and were making their way to the door when Sam stopped in his tracks, and clicked his tongue distastefully, making his elder brother turn around.

"What is it?" The elder Winchester asked, his hand which wasn't in his pocket coming up to gesture to his brother.

Sam let out a heavy sigh, "Forgot to pay for the coffee." He announced, retrieving his wallet from the pocket of his coat and making his way to the counter to pay. Dean stayed by the door waiting to leave the diner while Sam paid Brady for the coffee's at the counter.

The elder Winchester remained observing the scene before him from the sidelines, waiting for his brother with impatience and want to go home, when Marie suddenly appeared from the kitchen. She came up to the counter a few feet away from Brady by the assortments on display. Lifting the lid of one of the trays, she picked out a piece of key lime pie and placed it on the plate before covering the tray and taking the order to its table at the end of the room. Dean's brow slowly knitted together and the cogs in his mind started to turn treacherously at his new realization... where was she?

Sam was already turning back and coming towards the door. The boys both exited the diner, their boots splashing in the shallow puddles outside as they strolled over to the Impala parked alongside the road.

The clouds in the sky swirled and twisted into grey dreary masses above head, and from the heavy winds gushing through her hair her entire walk home on top of the eiry and dull weather, Lynn could tell that it was going to rain once more in only a few minutes. Lynn skipped across the dripping pavement and up to the doorstep of her building, jamming the key into the lock and jimmying it in place in attempt to bust it open. The lock had been jacked up for as long as she could remember from a burglary that happened just before she moved in, and she had never bothered to get it fixed. She had talked with Al her landlord numerous times about fixing it out of fear of her own safety, but he would always assure her that she was in good hands and that since the floor was practically flooded with people in every room, nothing could go down.

The door trembled in its frame shakily, making Lynn curse under breath before pressing her palm flat against the corner by the frame, collecting some air in her lungs, and giving it a firm push as she turned the key. To her relief, the door popped open with a loud crackle and the black haired waitress stumbled into the apartment, holding herself up on a nearby table.

"Piece of crap," She muttered under hear breath, eyeing the door as she shut it before kicking off her boots and heading into the kitchen for some water.

She dragged her socks along the cold tiles of her floor over to the fridge before grabbing a bottle of water and returning to the living room and flopping onto the couch. The rain outside continued to pour down in heavy streams and flood the streets, and Lynn enjoyed nothing more. Rainy afternoons were always a favorite of hers, spending them either at home with Brady or going out with her friends from music school to grab a bite. Unfortunately for her, today, no matter how cold it got or how much the wind whistled through the air, Lynn's wrist was getting the best of her and started to get sore.

She decided it would be best to clean up the cuts and bruises now that she was home, and since she wasn't going to let the day go to waste, marathon some netflix afterwards and selflessly indulge in copious amounts of icecream. Indeed the day had given her a spook and she was on edge ever since morning, but with her mind buzzing like a wasps nest with all sorts of thoughts on the interaction with the police, Arnold and her wrist- sulking and wracking her brains for a solution would do nothing seeing as she had too much on her mind. The day would go to waste, and all she would gain would be the stress of having to push those problems to the next day without a solution. The least she could do now was clear her head, and relax a little.

Getting up from her sloth-position on the couch, Lynn padded her feet back to the kitchen to dispose of the empty bottle of water, and scan the fridge for some remnants of the Creambelle ice-cream she always kept tucked away at the buck of the freezer for safe keeping. Rummaging through the assortments of groceries, she finally spotted the golden and black packaging the in the back and snagged it out, opening it to serve herself when she realized that the container was empty, with nothing but little scrapes of oreo on the sides of the tin.

No ice cream meant that Lynn had to run to the store to grab some, which she was in no mood for, but she had no other choice. She tossed the empty container into the bin, mumbling profanities to herself before heading into the living-room, grabbing her jacket, and stepping out the front door into the heavy downpour of the day.

**_Yay! Here you guys go, another installement of this story. Thank you guys so much for the suport and reading and just making me really push forward with this story as I see that other people are actually enjoying it. I've got tons of ideas for this story and I'm just super excited to be working on it and sharing them with you._**

_**Don't forget to follow, vote and comment letting me know what you thought of this chapter. Constructive crtiscism is ALWAYS welcome.**_

_**Stay awesome.  
Danny3.O**_


	6. Chapter 6

New York was known for it's rowdiness and incessant buzz that fluttered throughout it constantly. It was the city that never sleeps, the big apple- everyone knew about it's liveliness and how much of a hassle it was to get around the city- and not everyone liked it. Lynn though, she was the exception.

Moving to New York was the best thing she had ever done.

Strutting her booted legs along the pavements with the sound of passing traffic whistling in her ear, she couldn't help but smile to herself as the embrace of the city surrounded her. Being from a small town like Ohio with minimal to no action or activity, the big city was a major upgrade for her despite the exposure that it came with.

There had been a few times when Lynn was walking along the street and the strained voices of an arguing couple, siblings or work-mates were heard at the corner, profanities being thrown in the air and the occasional fists or the occasional burglary was reported only a few streets down from her shaggy apartment (which she learned to start sealing with chains). The people at first seemed a tad hostile and up their asses, but she learned that was just the city for you, knowing most people were either just too full of themselves or genuine assholes. It was a rough start, but soon Lynn learner not every New Yorker was all bark and bite albeit the stereotypes she had heard from the people around her. It

A few months after moving to Manhattan, she got the hold of it, starting to go out more and interact with the locals, have meals outside her house and really live. Not only was Lynn beginning to feel less at risk of getting mugged or knifed in a dark alley after work, but she actually begun to indulge in the real reasons she moved to the grand and vibrant city that was New York- its inspirational course. Learning -living- the art that the city had to offer. She had heard from so many people that the concrete jungle did wonders for an aspiring artist like herself, almost like magic. Leaving her hometown had been a bad ending to one chapter in her life, but it was also a beginning a great new one. Here she could pursue music like she had always wanted to and was striving to get there each day she worked a late night shift at the diner. Lynn couldn't complain it was getting her no-where seeing as her first pay was used to buy her first guitar, but the pressure toppling over her was exhausting. She needed her big break soon, and hoped that New York would work its wonders like she heard it did.

In the meantime, Lynn did what she could and put whatever inspiration and creativity the city threw her way to work.

She'd come out late at night every Friday, clad in her infamous leather jacket, headphones in and notebook in hand, and find a park bench a bit far from the hustle and bustle of the city streets, but still not too desolate. Thereafter she would plug in her headphones, turn on some music to balance her mind and write whatever came to mind, be it poetry, song lyrics or another chapter of her unpublished book she would work on during her breaks in the pantry at work. Pages would be filled, the battery on Lynn's phone would drain to two percent, and a few minutes after midnight, she would get up and leave, setting everything on her desk as soon as she got home for inspection and review the following day. It had become taboo for the young brunette to not do this every week.

Ever since she had picked up the habit a few months into moving to the city, her creativity sky-rocketed. Now, Lynn was at a point in her life where the only thing between her and her big break was her very self. She was always planning to take one of her demos to the local music library to get some exposure, or contact a publisher in her area when she saw her book going somewhere, or display her art at an upcoming exhibition at some gallery a few blocks away from where she stayed- but these plans never actually came to pass. Something always came up when she was reminded of these things, and she never got to them. No matter how much her friends and collegeues pestered her to release her work, Lynn never got it done, making Brady laugh and roll his eyes any time he heard her make plans to actually get anything done. He had come to know that for Lynn, that just meant she had gotten something done- not that she was going to actually pursue it.

Lynn kicked the tattered toe of her boot into a pile of leaves in her way, making the flutter up in the sky like confetti before making a turn for the right at Mane and trotting a few steps down to the nearby bar and parlor- her personal nirvana for those lonely nights spent marathoning game of thrones. To say the least, young Lynn was a usual there. She could already feel the coziness of the little parlor radiating in the marrow of her bones as she strode her way to the door and yanked it open by its handle. A familiar chime sounded from the brass bell hanging off a little noose tied just above the door as she did this, and nostalgia right away hit the black-haired girl straight in the face.

The tables askew the large and ambient room were cluttered with assortments of people conversing and digging into pies and pastries along with the occasional alcohol, and the grotesque smell of mingling perfumes and colognes of different brands and products mixed in the air. Lynn smiled contently and made for the bar, noodling her way past the crowds of people.

Once at the counter, her smile growing into a full on grin by the second, Lynn finally spotted the mass of an average sized olive skinned man with dark brown hair speaking to one of the customers leaving the bar. She rolled her eyes sardonically at the ogling looks the gentleman flashed the girl as she walked away before leaning on the marble of the counter, and the dark-haired man begun to approach her.

She shook her head from side to side as the grinning man finally came over and spoke.

"I can see someone's been busy with more than just work."Lynn commented with a smirk. The man with a tag on his maroon polo shirt reading "Joey" merely chuckled in return.

Leaning onto the counter as well, he said, "What can I say? I've got a lot of time on my hands."

"Mhm. I can see that." Lynn replied.

Joey was one of Lynn's long time friends from when she just moved to New York. She had applied for a job her at the bar, and was interviewed by him, the she was quite -rather completely- new to the city, she didn't have much experience, already shaky as it was from that, and so Joey's being majorly attractive to the young girl's eye made things even more difficult. At the end of it all, she never got the job, but her and him became good friends with every time she came in for a cup of coffee.

"How long's it been since you were last in here, Lyn'z?" Joey asked fondly, taking the waitress' hand in his slowly an caressing it with his calloused fingertips, a sensation that sent chills right up Lynn's spine. She would never admit it, but upon their first encounter, Lynn had found Joey mighty attractive and eventually developed a tiny crush on him, something she kept enveloped in her heart up until it all dissipated.

To her luck that came only a few weeks into knowing the man and the label of their friendship remained nowhere past platonic, maybe at times breaching over to a bit of the romantic level.

Despite the fading of her feelings for the brown-haired barista, Lynn couldn't help the blush that rose in her cheeks as she said, "Have no idea. Seems like ages."

Joey grinned even wider.

"Well, I can't complain. I've been getting a lot of more work done without you around to distract me." He quipped, making the dark-haired girl giggle.

"Am I blushing right now?" asked Lynn. Joey cocked a competitive brow at her immediately.

"Are you?"

"I don't know." Shrugged the waitress as he continued to pick at the skin by her knuckles, nicking it between his nails lightly.

Joey grinned widely before saying, "Well it's good to see you around, kiddo."

"Yeah...whatever." She murmured.

"What can I do you for?"

Lynn dusted away the imaginary particles of dust on the thighs of her jeans, adjusted the hem of her shirt which had seemed to crinkle round the edges, and returned her attention to her friend, remembering what had brought her to the restaurant in the first place.

"Just some ice-cream. I'm gonna be out of here pretty soon anyway so I'll take it to go." She assured.

The dark haired boy nodded, "Alright."

As Joey disappeared into the crevice of the kitchen just behind the bar, Lynn busied herself with bobbing her head to the sprawling upbeat tune playing in the background. Hard Fi's Hard To Beat.

Nodding her head from side to side entranced by the music, Lynn waited for Joey to return when he finally came into sights with a bagged tub of ice cream in hand.

The brown eyed boy plopped it down onto the counter and Lynn quickly took it, smiling gratefully at her friend.

"Thanks," She simpered.

Lynn was already planning on the leaving the little parlor, fidgeting with the polythene bag in her hand and turning on her heel when she heard Joey call for her. Taken by surprise she glanced over her shoulder, a befuddled expression pasted on her face.

"What?" she asked.

Joey bit his lip anxiously, gazing at the grey-eyed girl in front of him before saying, "If it's not a big deal..." He stammered, a smile tickling the corners of his pink lips, "There's this party next week here at the parlor to celebrate opening another branch up town, and I was wondering if you wanted to come? Bring a few friends maybe?"

Lynn stared with a disheveled expression.

What?

"Uhm,..." She stuttered, senses all of a sudden standing at the edge. She felt like a deer in someone's headlights and her mind right away begun to run wild with plausible responses.

Joey put on his best puppy pout as he tried to sway her.

"C'mon, it will be fun, Lynn." he cooed convincingly, but Lynn merely stared on, frozen in shock.

She wasn't even sure why she had frozen in place. It was a regular question- an offer to go for a party, is what she told herself, but a tiny part of Lynn also brought up the idea of it being a date. Which was why Lynn was in such a panic.

Was this a date? She couldn't decipher whether it was or not, and if it was, how did she feel about it? She had been out for the dating game for so long that she feared she had lost her edge. If this was a date with Joey, how could she know she wasn't risking their whole friendship by saying yes? What if things went wrong?

Lynn was on the verge of saying no, but suddenly realized that this might actually be something she needed. In all honesty, she desperately needed to get out of the house. Being herself, she was always devoted to any project she had on her plate at the moment and currently, it was work. She was always busy with the diner and if not that, tending to her music or writing. One weekend out with friends wouldn't hurt.

And so darting her eyes from angle to angle, landing them anywhere but Joey's direction, she opened her mouth gingerly.

"I'll be there." she announced and Joey lit up like a Christmas tree. Lynn merely laughed nervously, clutching onto the bag in her hand with a death grip.

She had always been a bit awkward, and situations like these were when it really showed.

Not knowing what to do next, Lynn tried to make small conversation before she bolted out of the building from how much her face was changing shades.

"So uhm...next week?" she asked cautiously, etching away from the bar and bumping into a few people.

"Yeah," joey nodded, "you can bring a few friends if you like." he added.

But Lynn was already halfway through the boisterous crowd of people scattered askew the room, and merely nodded and smiled in response, having not heard his last statement. Joey hesitantly waved from his spot behind the counter, his brow knitted in confusion as Lynn left the diner, her ears hot and ringing.

She trotted a few feet away from the parlor with her gaze glued to the pavement until she was finally away from the scene with her face still a bit warm. Clutching a shaky hand around the street lamp, she let out a heavy breath.

"Wow..." the grey-eyed girl stated in awe, still staring at the ground completely befuddled, "I think I have a date."

_**Here it is! Another chapter. I'm sorry it has been such a delayed update for you guys, I'll tyr and get in chapters more often as I try to push through my writer's block.**_

_**I know we didn't have any Winchester action in this chapter and it was a bit short, but I feel like I did it justice and don't worry- the next chapter our favorite hunters will surely return.**_

_**Please don't forget to favorite, follow, and review letting me know what you guys think fo the book. It means a ton to me.**_

_**Thanks.**_


	7. Chapter 7

_A bright light seers far off in the alley behind the bar as the flames surrounding the red-haired man licked at the ground hungrily. He gripped onto the arm of the figure in front of him, digging his nails into its flesh, with his attacker only pushing him further into the dark alley. He wore a sick and sadistic grin behind the color of his coat, his features illuminated slightly by the fire around him, and he had thick black hair sprouting from the roots of his scalp. The stranger merely laughed at the man's attempts to get out of his grasp._

_"You're a squirmy one, aren't you?" he spoke in a raspy voice, his devilish smile reflecting in the pleading eyes of his victim._

_"Please," the red-haired man cried between gags, "I need more time."_

_At this the stranger laughed once sound was bone rattling, mischief dripping from its core as he glared into the eyes of his victim._

_"I think you're just fine buddy."_

**Lynn's POV:**

The door to my apartment trembled in its frame as I tried my best to pry it open with my free hand. The tub of ice-cream cradled in my other arm nearly slipped out f my grasp a few times in the process of course, making me all the more nervous, but after three good tries –and a few profanities being uttered- the door popped open and I sighed in triumph, a light chuckle following.

I was in a good mood.

My little run-ins with Joey at the parlor always left me in a state of refreshment. It was always nice seeing a familiar face from time to time out of work, more so interacting with them and he just happened to be one of the best to encounter. Simply because he was always in a good mood- obviously, it was contagious, or I wouldn't have been humming "Hello little girl" from Into the Woods to myself. I had seen it on Broadway a while back and it was one of the many songs I couldn't get out of my head. I set the keys down on the coffee table and continued to the kitchen, skipping with each step.

The clouds which were forming above head earlier seemed to dissipate as the day had come to an end. It was already coming to 8:00 and the whole day was spent running around town in the excitement of my mood. Heading over to the cabinets, I rummaged through the forks and knives for a bit before grabbing a spoon, shutting the drawer, and heading back into the living room.

Living alone was nice. No-one ever eats your food, there's no unnecessary noise in the middle of the night while you're asleep and you didn't have to worry about anyone catching you downing an entire tub of ice-cream on your own on your couch. The only downside to all the nirvana,- rent, which at the moment I was having a bit of trouble with.

I knew my job at the diner was pretty stable- hell, I could say more than stable by my standards- but all the pay I was getting was being used for things like my art and music, more so food which I consumed a lot (a bit more than required at times). Now I had at least two weeks left before Dennis my landlord came knocking at my door and demanding I pay up, and my wallet seemed a bit tight. I had been debating moving out of my tiny apartment littered with little trinkets reminding me of home for a while now,- mostly because I didn't think I can sustain myself here any longer if I keep spending at the rate I do with my music and art on my plate. Though at times, the trinkets would remind me of, well,- home...wherever that was, and if I ever had any. I skipped town as fast as I could ever since...

No, I'm not getting into that.

I was in a good mood.

I tried not to dwell too much on the suddenly grim thoughts creeping into my mind as I fell down into the pile of cushions on the couch and popped the lid of ice-cream open, taking a spoonful and shoving it into my mouth. Instead, I tried to focus on more uplifting things; like my 'date' with Joey, a tone of tomato rising in my cheeks at the thought.

I had been out of the game for quite a while now, with the last date I was on ending with some guy named Gary obsessed with porcelain dolls trying to drug me and stuff me in a van when luckily Brady came to my rescue. To put it lightly, my luck with guys was never really in a good place. But I was to blame for that really. My friends tried to set me up with numerous guys who seemed decent and not psychotic and obsessed with dolls, but I neglected them and it always started some sort of uproar between them and I, Brady claiming I wasn't letting go. I couldn't say he was wrong of course. Brady was right; I wasn't letting go.

I couldn't. I had been on the occasional date, but I never committed- I couldn't. I didn't want to –not after 2012 at least. He was my first and last successful relationship with Matt, ex-soldier working in an auto shop his dad left for him and his brothers when he passed. We were in love.

He and I met my first month in New York when I went to get a car dealership to get around town and hit it off right away. He was smart, funny, kind- basically the whole package. And we date for two years a few weeks after. It was Nirvana from then on, with me working a few shifts at the shop and him helping me with my music and all, but most of all, with my whole limited life situation.

After Brady, he was the only person to ever believe me when I told him my story over a bottle of Bourbon in the garage and drunker tears; from the both of us. He understood. I never really had that in a relationship, and it made everything seem so surreal, albeit I was basically living out of a shoebox and he had no college degree. We were both in pretty unstable positions in our lives at the time, but when you're in love none of that seems to matter- at least to me it didn't. It didn't matter if I had just ran away from home with six cents to my name; I had Matt. I told myself that every night when I went to sleep questioning whether or not I was doing things right. I told myself I was...I mean, I was wasn't I?

In the summer of 2012 he proposed, and the wedding was scheduled for June the following year. His brothers agreed to dip into the family savings to pay off the wedding and we were already making plans, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed about the whole thing when Matt was drafted once more in October that year. He died in Afghanistan.

It took me a few months and a lot of alcohol to get out of the funk Matt's death had left me with, but I never could...and that was a first for me. That was the thing with me- I had seen so much bad in my life, it never really came as a shock when the odds weren't in my favor, but with Matt, everything changed.

I always believed out of all my friends, Brady's death would be the only one I couldn't push past, but when Matt passed I realized maybe I'd have more than just one death to mourn excessively. I couldn't eat, I couldn't even sleep, and each night I cried myself to sleep in a fury of tears and sobs, but eventually the year came to an end, and I managed to get over it.

People died all the time- it never made it any easier to get over the loss of a loved one of course, but it helped. I'd never really love again,...

But I lived.

I shoved another spoonful of ice-cream into my mouth, almost burrowing to the bottom of the tub and swallowed hard. Was going on this date the right thing to do?

Sighing heavily, I gingerly placed the tub of ice-cream on the table and sat upright, my head in my hands as my mind stirred. Was I really ready to let go after all these years? Was I betraying Matt like this? I knew he would want me to be happy- he always did... but I wasn't sure this would make me happy. After all, he was the only one who actually made me happy; he was one of a kind, the only person who understood what I was going through without being there himself. He was a gem to me, and now he was gone.

I couldn't be sure I'd ever find that again, but then again, you never know unless you try, right?

A long silence fell in the room as I wracked my brain for answers, groaning and sighing from time to time as well as fidgeting in my seat.

It wouldn't hurt to try.

Runnign away from my conflicts never did me any good in the long run, and refusing to open myself up to anyone because of a past encounter would add to that list, so I decided it was time to actually learn from my (many) mistakes and tragedies in life. You know what they say- YOLO... and in my case, the phrase applies quite literally.

I brushed the stray strands of hair out my face as I sat up in my seat.

"It wouldn't hurt to try,.." I muttered to myself smiling a little as I returned to the kitchen with the tub of ice-cream in hand and humming to myself.

_"Hello little girl, what's the rush..._

_You're missing all the flowers,_

_The sun won't set for hours, take your time..."_

_The red-headed man continued to claw at his attacker's firm arm, the desperation to stay alive taking its course, but the flames kept on getting hotter and hotter making his skin begin to sizzle. At this, the blue-eyed man's expression changed to a stern death glare and he tightened his grip around the man's neck, strangling the life out of him. He begun to chant as the flames rose higher and higher, forming a tall enclosure around the two men._

_"Et apparuerunt illis dispertitae linguae tamquam ignis super capita singulorum , et repleti sunt omnes Spiritu Sancto. Verbum Dei caeli principem sanctorum et invicto caelestum numine et sermone bono," he begun, his eyes squinted into two piercing slits in his face, and his victim begun to squirm even more, the flames around them now spreading onto the young man's legs and climbing up his body. The young man's eyes begun to bulge in his head, watching as his attacker chanted louder and the wind begun to stir around them._

_"Itaque omni spurcitia parat et exterioribus caelesti gratia plenus animabus nostris .Et sanctificabo tentationem animabus hominum, et decor vultus eius potentia calidum quasi ignis exardebit in te, ex Deo natus est .Deum , quoniam sub oneribus mundi liberatos , emundabit puerum sanctum tuum dispertitae linguae tamquam ignis ." the flames climbed higher up the man's body, turning his skin a pinkish and black tone as the smell of roasting flesh filled the air and eventually reached his neck where the stranger's hands were still wrapped firmly and came to a stop, boiling the flesh._

_The young man's skin begun to prickle and boil, bubbling viscously from the heat, when a trail of blue and white light begun to slowly rise from the back of his mouth. At this, the black-haired man grinned vivaciously, and continued to chanted louder and louder as the wind whipped viscously through his short hair._

_"Purga animam suam propter me et patrem ope confisi bello liberavit animam suam in cor lapideum incendent ardore , Dómine , quia dicitur " : ipse vos baptizabit in Spiritu Sancto," he said, and the trail of light begun to travel out of the dying man's body, floating up into the air, stirring in place. The blue eyed man grinned lazily, eyes travelling up to the floating orb of blue and white above him as he gazed at it before he returned to the man's dead eyes._

_The black haired stranger tilted his head to the side, smiling pitifully at the man. He was roasting, the flesh on his bones was beginning to seethe off, and his fingernails had subsided into nothing; but he was still alive. He was still breathing, and watching his killer, chuckle at him through his nose with a pitiful brow._

_ He was alive, until the black haired man opened his mouth to speak, still smiling, and spoke._

_"Et ignis," he smiled lopsidedly, staring into the man's eyes, and the flames at the man's neck slithered up his throat, suffocating him all the more and onto his face. He tried to scream...but his killer's hand was still gripping onto his neck like a viper on its prey. _

_The fire all of a sudden grew larger in size, engulfing the man's entire body from head to toe before the ring of fire around the two men suddenly died out and was soon followed by that licking at the victim's body. The black haired-man right away unclenched his fist, dropping the burnt body onto the ground with a thud before reaching into his pocket and retrieving a handkerchief ._

_He wiped off his hand disgustedly, wrinkling his nose as he did so before placing it back in his pocket and now standing tall to admire his work. He remained still, examining the body for a brief silence before digging his hand deeper into this jacket pocket, and pulling out a notepad. Scribbling something onto it, he placed it back and looked up to the orb still hovering above him .It was still glowing bright._

_He chuckled once more._

_ "Derin Peterson." He grinned lazily, staring at the orb, and clicked his tongue._

_"What a shame,..."he noted, shrugging before clearing his throat._

_"Exterioribus caelesti gratia pluit super eos caecis torreri animas suas mundum , libera me super hoc quandam impuritatem anima et onerati estis , o pater," he chanted with closed eyes and the orb begun to lower onto him. A surge of white flashed in the alley, making the ground tremble slightly._

_Opening his eyes, he exhaled heavily and knelt down near the body, examining the prints he had left on from his fingers. It was brutal, and when the police found it he was assured they'd be befuddled beyond belief wondering what did this. But that wasn't his problem. None of it was. He had gotten what he wanted- no matter what it cost him. Or at least that's what he tried to tell himself..but it wasn't working this time._

_The stranger's eyes slowly begun to change. _

_They were no longer nonchalant as they were before- they begun grow restless, a scowl forming on his brow. His breathing suddenly got heavier as his eyes scurried over the body in front of him. _

_His blue eyes filled with fury, and bringing both his hands up to his silky black hair, he shouted._

_"Son of a bitch," he screamed with rage, tugging at the strands of black and shooting up to stand._

_ The sound echoed through the naked night, filling the empty streets creeping with silence. The black haired man trembled all of a sudden, eyes turning red with tears at the brim as his hands scratched at his scalp. He was rabid. This man was insane; or this was what others would think._

_He knew he was normal...for someone like him, he was perfectly normal._

_Tears begun to fall from his red eyes as hair grasp on his hair loosened and he stopped moving. He remained completely still, staring at the body. At his work; no longer admiringly. Grievingly. Breathing heavily, he let his hands fall to his side as he begun to approach the roasted body lying limp on the ground. He knelt down by it once more, licking his lips nervously, and now reaching into his jacket once more. His inner pocket._

_Unclenching his fist, his blue eyes stared at the broken and burnt twig of sage in his hand before returning to the corpse._

_"Derin fucking Peterson..." he but whispered, voice hoarse and quiet as he shut his eyes for a brief moment. Opening them, he scooted over to the body and pried open its mouth, gently placing the twig at the back on the corpse's burnt tongue, and shut it._

_Standing up with a sigh, he dusted off his hands, ran them through his hair to adjust it, and tucked them in his pocket once more as he begun to strut out of the dark alley, muttering to himself._

_"What a shame..."_

**Well well well, who is this mysterious stranger introduced in this chapter? What will Lynn do about her date with Joey, and how will it go? So many questions, and a lot of stuff planned for this story, and I'm super excited to share it with you guys. I'm aware the Winchester boys have been missing in action for a while now but I assure you, they will be back in the next chapter and with a HUGE kick. I'm really excited for you guys to see what I have planned.  
**

**It would mean so much to me if you voted, followed and commented what you thought of this chapter and the path the book is form of criticism is appreciated so if there's anything I need to improve, you let me know and I work on it. Don't be shy :)**

**For those of you who want to know what the Latin text I used translates to, here it is:**

_"And there appeared unto them cloven tongues like of fire, founded upon the heads of every one, and they were all filled with the Holy Spirit .  
The Word, the Word of God of the heavens and the prince of the sanctuary , and a resolute divine power, banishes the working of all uncleanness, and unto his heavenly grace, purify our souls .  
And he will make of His power to bless and sanctify the souls of men that have been violated by the world with his grace as a flaming fire .  
Lord God, remove from this soul the burdens of the world. Purify the soul of your son, Father, with your holy tongues of fire, so he can have a seat in heaven till the last days.  
Scorch his soul clean, oh heavens, and deliver it onto me to return to Valhalla, I an angel of the lord.  
Burn away this heart of stone the world has given him, and fill him with your grace, Lord, for it is written ": he shall baptize you in the Holy Spirit and with fire"_


	8. Chapter 8

The previous night had been spent with the Winchester boys attempting to track down Lynn after she fled the diner earlier that day. It was no doubt a rookie move to do so, marking herself a key suspect on the elder Winchester's list,but after some convincing from Sam he let it go. He told Dean that there was no point searching for her because she ha no plausible relation to the case, and looking at the statistics of it all, he eventually let it go. The only thing Dean now had against Lynn was her not bringing him his pie- and mor often than not, getting off _that_ list was the harder task.

Upon their abortion of the task, both brothers decided to drop by one of the local bars to jave a few drinks.  
They missed it. Just talking to one another not as hunters but mere men. That was what they were afterall; human beings, men- not machines.

More importantly, the two were brothers, and taken these little chats were every blue moon, both brothers reveled in them when they did occur.

The previous night in particular going onto their best hits list. It was a memorable night, and it wasn't just because Dean managed score himself some pie- for Sam, it was because he was too endulged in talking to the bartender to pay much attention to his brother's chowing down. _Very loud_ chowing down at that.  
To say the least, the night was a winner.

The boys had been working the case here in the city for a mere week and were already finding small bumps in the road ahead. Sure they were minor, miniscule in the grand scheme of things, but Sam and Dean still found out unsettling to know the closest thing to a lead they had now was a memo on Arnie's nephew, and Castiel's ongoing reports on the victims- a new one coming in only the previous night.

It was the first hit in months and as saddening as it was, it gave them a push further up the ladder to find their main culprit. It wasn't a big break, but still- a lead nonetheless.

Dean rubbed the sleep from his somber green eyes as you spoke to Cas over the phone.

"What do you got, Cas?" he asked, tiredly rubbing the sockets of his eyes.

He was tired. _So tired._

"A new victim. An alley just outside a bar in Queens..." the angel sighed as Sam's large mass strutted into the room. He was still clad in his pajama pants but taken the hour of day -6:57am- Dean had no right to judge.

The elder Winchester glanced over at his brother, and beckoned him over before returning his attention to Castiel.

"...roasted- just like a few of the other vics, but I didn't get a close enough look to compare it to the other bodies." Cas explained as Dean glared at the ambiant table lamp at his side. Sam joined him at the library table, yanking the chair out from beneath the table and sadling onto it.

Cas broke his flow of speech at the sound of the chair grazing the wood of the floor as he asked, "Sam, is that you?"

The younger Winchester noded his head, "Hey Cas. You say there's another vic?" he inquired.

"I was just telling Dean about it. Another body found burnt just outside a bar in queens." Stated the angel.

Dean's brow quirked up with curiosity.

"What's the name of the bar?"  
He asked, voice slightly uneasy.

The angel from where he stood, just outside the crime scene, craned his neck over his shoulder to get a better look at the sign.

It was written in an italic font of gold, pasted onto a dark olive green sign.

The angel squinted his blue eyes, saying,"Uhm, the bar is called _Caleb's._"

Sam and Dean froze.

The air was suddenly thick, and all the boys could feel was tension gripping at their throats.

To think the attack was merely a few hours before the boys left was nerve-wracking. Had the boys stayed just a _little _longer, or ordered just _one more_ drink, then maybe they would have managed to catch their purp- maybe even stop the murder in the process.

The brothers exchanged glances when Cas' voice tore through the tense silence.

"Sam? Dean?"

"We're still here, Cas." the younger Winchester answered, hazel eyes still locked with his brother's with worry.

Dean adjusted his position and stated, "We were there last night- at the bar. Just before the attack."

"Did you notice anything odd before you left?" the angel asked.

The brothers shook their heads.

"Not really..." Sam chided, and the conversation was left to simmer for a brief silence before Castiel broke the ice, clearing his throat scratchily.

"I'm sorry."

"Any witnesses?" asked the elder Winchester, and the mood shifted immensly; the boys always told themselves '_no point crying over spilled milk'_.

A heavy sigh was heard on the other end of the phone.

"Sadly, none; everyone was in the bar at the time and one of the staff members was the one to find him at around 5:00am upon their arrival at work."

Dean's mouth turned down in a frown, "Well that must've been a great sight just before breakfast."

Sam chuckled, shaking his head, "Yeah so uh, did you see the body before the feds took it away?"

"Not yet. I'm on my way right now, but I just wanted to alert you two. I'll let you know when I see the body."

"Thanks, Cas." the elder Winchester spoke with gratitude and Sam added, "Yeah, thanks Cas."

"Ofcourse," Stated the angel, continuing, "Any luck with finding Arnold's nephew?"

"Not just yet," answered Sam, biting his lip in thought.

Dean, who had been busy trying to keep himself awake decided to lean back in his seat, propping his arms up above his head as he spoke.

"The kid at the diner said he comes in every week to grab breakfast. Said he'd call us when he dropped by next."

"And the lady from the trial? Sam said somethimg about you finding her?" Castiel chastised, and now it was Dean's turn to flush with embarassment.

The green-eyed hunter glanced over at his brother who was smirking at him defiantly.

Dean sighed, "Yeah,uhm- false alarm. She wasn't our lead, just some random girl with poor waiting skills." Dean chided, muttering "she didn't even have the decency to bring me my pie" to himself while Sam laughed.

"Well what made you think she was a lead?" Cas asked.

Dean scowled solemnly and confessed, "My apparently-wrong gut."

The younger Winchester stood from his seat, laughing lightheartedly at his brother's defeat.

Dean glared bitterly.

On the other end of the phone  
Castiel sighed once more,disappointed that the boys' lead was so minor. A small part of him was still grateful that they were one step ahead than they were the previous week, but the angel was hoping that the entire course of the mission would move a little faster. Everyone did at this point.

"I'm sure you'll get him. I'm off to see the bodies now," Stated the angel. Both brothers nodded.

"Yeah we hope. This case is kicking our asses."Dean scowled.

There was a brief, tension filled silence before the elder Winchester decided it was time to put an end to the conversation and get to work.

"Alright, Cas. We'll be out in a bit to question some of the employees. Good talk." Dean's velvety voice spoke before the line went dead.

Pocketing his phone and standing from his seat, the apple-eyed hunter turned to Sam.

With his chest rising with a heavy exhale, he said,"Well?"

"Well, what?" the younger hunter asked as he widened his hazel eyes expectantly.

"How do you feel about all of this?" Dean asked.

Sam grimaced.

"What can I say, Dean. It sucks..."

"Yeah, no-shit Sherlock, I mean what do you think about handling this case? Handling the employee who found the body?"

"Uhm,why are you asking me?"

"My gut's on the wrong end, Sammy. And after yesterday,...I'm thinking that maybe you handle people better than a grunt like me.

"Dean..."

"The mark, Sammy..."

"I don't care about that, Dean. You can't begin doubting yourself because of the mark- it doesn't control you.

"Look man, your instincts were probably just weighed down by all this-..."  
"Going on around us. You can't throw in the towel after one fail."

Dean bit his lip, contemplating his brother's words, running over them in his mind.

Sam was right. It was just one mis-hap; he couldn't drop the case over something like this.  
The younger Winchester had a point- with all the craziness the two were dealing with with the Sanctum case, on top of the tragedy of having to bear the mark of cain- it was expected of the elder Winchester to stray off track a few times, but in the end he was fine. Dean was fine. He was fine.

He nodded complaisant to his brother's pep talk.

"Thanks mother Teressa," he teased with a fond smile and Sam rolled his eyes, subtle laughs escaping his lips as well.

The moment faded, and clapping his hands and rubbing them together, the elder Winchester cleared his throat.

"Alright. Let's get dressed," the elder Winchester shrugged, placing his feet into motion as he made for the door but stopping by his brother in the process.

"Pass a comb through your hair Rapunzel," he said, patting the brunette's shoulder with a smirk.

"You look like shit."

* * *

"No, Brady, I don't want you getting involved in this." Lynn sternly said, rubbing her phone further into her neck as she balanced it against her shoulder,"just leave things to fizzle out. It eventually will, I don't know why you want to get involved." she scolded.

She padded her bare feet over to the couch, clearing it of the crossword puzzles and candy wrappers askew the cushions, crinkling her nose in slight disgust and sat down.

Milk splashed out from the rim of her bowl onto the floor as she did so, and Lynn clicked her tongue distastefully.

"Shit," she cursed.

She hastily placed the bowl down, making for the kitchen where she grabbed a cloth and returned to wipe up the mess. She had thrown her phone onto the couch, but Brady's incessant pestering was muffled in the back.

"Hello? Houston, come in." Brady taddled, a childish tone thick in his voice.

At the sound, Lynn's head snapped to the side with an irritated frown as she stretched over and seized it in her fingers.

She rolled her grey eyes as she spoke.

"I'm here, I'm here," she rushed the words of the mouth, leaning back against the couch.

She sighed, "My crossword just got rained on by my cereal."

Brady laughed glibly and Lynn's lips turned down once more. She grabbed her cereal from the table, and sighed.

"Alright, where were we?" she began, digging her spoon into her bowl and bringing it up to her lips.

Brady cleared his throat and sarcastically replied, "How are you moving past what happened yesterday? Aren't you the slightest bit of worried?"

Lynn stopped chewing halfway at Brady's statement.

"No, I'm not..." She swallowed with a gulp, fishing in her bowl for more coco-pops, "Why dwell on the past? It's over now. Those two goons got what they wanted from you, left, and are now probably scarfing down doughnuts in a pastry shop."

"I think you have your stereotypes mixed up- those are police, not FBI." The brown haired man stated. Lynn merely shrugged as she continued to fish out coco-pops from her bowl.

"Tomato toh-ma-to. My point is this whole thing is beyond us now." she persisted.

The brown-haired man who was busy spinning around in his chair back at the diner fiddling with a pen between his fingers frowned.

"Yeah, except it's not," Brady countered hastily, "they're still looking for Josh Morris, meaning they're still in the city."

There was a thick silence.

"You're not in this alone" Brady began, his crooning voice now gentle and sympathetic.

Her lips turned up in a meek smile as she spoke.

"Thanks. I know." she simpered fondly into the phone, twiddling with her spoon as Brady nodded over the end of the phone.

"We'll handle this later- together."

Lynn sighed in defeat. She shut her eyes for a moment before opening them once more.

"I don't doubt it. But for now, lets steer clear of sensitive topics like that."She advised.

"Well then what should the topic at hand be?"He inquired, continuing to sway back and forth in his seat.

Immediately Lynn felt urged to tell Brady of the upcoming weekend, but she was more than hesitant. The brunette wouldn't cease teasing her, and that wasn't something she was exactly fond of.

"There is something new on the table..." Lynn began apprehensively.

From her tone of voice, Brady could already tell what was about to slip off her tongue was gold, excitement tainting his brown eyes as he suppressed a sly grin.

"Go on," he encouraged. Lynn ignored her friend's wry tone.

She tucked a stray strand of hair tickling her forehead to the side, saying "Promise you won't freak out and go all mother-hen on me?"

"I can't promise that" Brady replied earnestly, a shameless and bland expression now plastered over his face as he listened into his phone.

Lynn on the other end of the phone, was holding her breath tight in her narrow throat, anxious to reveal that she had been asked out. She kicked herself mentally, muttering a few profanities to herself that made Brady quirk his brow when she blurted the words out.

"I have a date this weekend...with Joey."

Brady's face was right away marred by his contagious smile.

"Your hot bartender friend?" He asked. Lynn nodded, standing from her spot by the couch and making for the kitchen, bowl in hand.

"Yes,.."she confirmed, "...that's the one."

"That's great. It'll do you good on that little dry-spell issue you've been having."

The raven-haired girl snorted, wrinkling her nose as she dumped her dish in the sink. She turned the knob of the tap, making the water gush rapidly in the back. A few drops splashed onto her burgundy shirt.

"Bump the breaks, mister.  
"He invited me to some party this weekend and there will be a bunch of other people there too."she explained, turning the tap off as she added, "...I doubt he's trying to get some."

Brady frowned into the phone.

"So how do you know it's a date then?"

At this Lynn's face contorted into somewhat an expression of worry as she replied. "Why else would he ask me to go to this party, Brady? It's obviously a date..._right_?"

"What were his exact words?" her friend drew out. The hairs at the nape of her neck began to stand, and fear and doubt started to set in.

_Was this really a date? Was Brady right?_

"He said, 't_here's a party this weekend to celebrate opening a new branch of Caleb's-_ somewhere in burbank, I think -_do you wanna come?"_

"Was that all?"

"Basically that was the gist of things." Lynn replied, crossing her arms as she leaned against the cool metal of the sink.

"Well that's a good sign- he's not the host but he still wants you there." Brady replied, but she wasn't sold. The seed of doubt had already been planted in her head, and she was already freaking out.

She uncrossed her arm, and instead placed her hand onto ledge of the sink, scratching her nails into the marble counter surrounding it, chipping them in the process.

She groaned. "That doesn't make things any less nerve-wracking now does it?"

"I feel like you're getting overly-worked up over this" Brady sighed. She pursed her lips exaggeratedly and huffed.

"I haven't had a date in a while, cut me some slack." Her fingers continued absently etching away at the counter when Lynn realized what she was doing. She needed stop that- she used it as a coping mechanism, scratching, but it always ended up damaging either the fabrics of her shirts an jackets, or her furniture. She swiftly jerked her hand back from the counter and tucked it behind her back. _No scratching_.

Brady was busy spinning in his seat with a sympathetic glower on his lips when the front door to the diner clicked open, and in strode a blonde-haired lady and a teenage girl. She had hair done in a bob and was smiling vibrantly as she and her daughter made for one of the booths far in the corner.

Brady smiled warmly, waving his hand as Mindy went to take their order.

His attention soon returned to his phone call.

"Relax then." he cooed, rubbing his stubble and watching the small family,"...you'll be okay- just...just give it some time."

Lynn groaned, responding with, "The party is this Saturday, I don't exactly have time to think this through, Brady- get your head out of your ass." A sigh followed her statement.

This is what she was afraid; misreading the situation as something it wasn't- something more than it was- and having herself embarrassed. Worse, having he hopes destroyed.

If this thing wasn't a date, then Lynn had been getting herself worked up for nothing. And the same applied even if it were. Either way, whatever she would do up until Saturday made her distraught-stricken.

Why did she care anyway? She had little more than platonic interest in Joey, if it all any, and if it was date, afterall, the night would come to a close and the two would be only one step ahead because at the moment she didn't need a relationship. She thought she did- yesterday, if you asked her she'd say she maybe saw something with Joey. But now she realized maybe she didn't.

_Or maybe she did._

She didn't know, and she needed to find out, but the only way to do that was to go to the party.

She would see how her emotions reacted to the dark-haired barista. But how could she know if he even wanted her there as a companion in the first place?

Conflicted and stricken with distraught, an idea came to mind, and Lynn immediately felt her eyes light up, gleaming with relief.

"I'll just drop by and ask him" she stated, grey eyes wide and hopeful.

Brady in return, quirked his brow and shot his eyes open, puzzled by his friend's idea.

"What?"

"I'll just drop by _Caleb's _today,- right before work,..." said Lynn, quickly making for her bedroom to start getting dressed,"...and if Joey's there, I'll ask him if I can bring a friend along..."

Reaching the bedroom door, she swung it open and right away rushed over to her already open wardrobe, determination fueling her pace.

"You _are_ desperate. You really have been out of the game for a while." Brady tutted and she rolled her grey orbs as she picked out one of her pairs of highwaisted denim shorts and a patterned tank top.

This wouldn't be the first time Lynn pulled a stunt so extravagant and shameful for the sake of a boy. In high school she and her boyfriend planned on running away together and on the night of the fleeing, when he didn't come over to pick her up from home, she drove all the way to his house, in the middle of the night to see if their scheme was still in play. Casually dropping by the parlor was no big deal for her.

"Are you free this weekend?" she asked, placing the in her neck as she shimmied out of her clothes.

"You want me to tag along?" Brady inquired.

She nodded.

"You don't want to attend a party with free booze and buffalo wings?"She countered and Brady contemplated the offer, thinking of how rewarding it would be to have assortments of foods at his wait, but quicklt shook off the idea.

"It is tempting, but no. I'm not helping you with some wily antics that could ruin your night with a very handsome man." he said sternly. "What if he thinks you and I are together?"

Lynn's face molded into a tight lipped expression as she tried to suppress a snicker.

"What if you're playing for the other team?" she offered with a hopeful smile when Brady's eyes widened and he let out a sardonic laugh, scoffing in between.

"No way..." the brunette enunciated, "I'm not neglecting the V just so you can get the D." he chanted, shaking his head vigorously whilst Lynn fell to her knees, a scowl prominent in her features as she peaked under her bed for a pair of boots.

She pouted, desperate for Brady to comply, and continued to beg him to come.

"Please," she argued, stretching a lanky arm under her bed and running it along the cold floor.

"I'm not up for this plan; end of discussion."

"They're probably gonna have one of those boars with apples in their mouths." she prodded. She scrambled up onto her feet and plopped down onto her bed as she fit her feet into her shoes one boot at a time.

Brady bit his lip. His friend needed him and for Lynn, he was willing to do anything. The bountiful amounts of food only sweetened the deal, but the brown-haired man's commitment to his best-friend is what really sold him to say yes.

He sighed heavily, and shut his eyes.

"You drive a hard bargain, Denver."

"Is that a yes?" Lynn asked hopefully. Brady ran a hand down his face, stopping to scratch his stuble before answering.

"You owe me big time, but yes. I will tag along this weekend, and pretend I'm gay. Because I love you so dearly." He huffed.

Customers began filing into the busy diner as he scanned each one of them, and flashed a friendly smile to the usuals.

Lynn bent down to buckle up her left boot, fidgeting with the brass buckle and moving onto the zip.

"Please you're doing this for the wings."

"The boar is what really sold me."Brady retorted, which made Lynn smile, thinking it would be no surprisevif her friend was being truly honest and only doing this for the food.

She was dressed and ready to leave, grabbing her satchel before dashing out the room. Before she left the house, though, she'd be sure to have a cup of coffee at her side, and so headed for the kitchen as she spoke into her phone.

"And you say I'm desperate."  
Lynn joked and the two shared a brief laugh. Upon reaching the kitchen, she removed the phone from in between her shoulder and placed it in the palm of her hand as she set the kettle to boil.

She leaned against the counter.

"You're too sweet on me, Cavil." she remarked as the kettle begun to boil.

"I am, aren't I?" Brady replied and the conversation quickly drifted onto something else, and eventually the topic at hand was not Joey, but what else brought Lynn great bounties of joy.

The previous day after fleeing from the diner and taking a stroll through the city, Lynn's creative juices seemed to be in rapid motion, and she had spent the evening finishing one of her greatest projects.  
She had managed to finally, after years of yearning, of striving, finish one of her musical projects- one of the very first songs she wrote when she moved to New York.

Brady was a major factor contributing to the equation as well as he had been the one pushing Lynn to finish up her song temporarily entitled 'Draft 1', scribbled out in her notebook. He first heard it one starry night with the air dull and buzzing like radio-static as the two were waiting for the rain to boggle out. By then the two coworkers were well acquainted and already on the path towards mutual friendship. She was busy tuning her guitar, playing around with random notes and chords and had ended playing one of her songs out of boredom. After hearing Brady singing his praises, it was then that Lynn realized her full potential. That she was made for more than actually just waiting tables and taking numbers. Brady was the first one other than her very self to see a glint of hope in her smokey grey eyes- he gave her a sense of devotion. And this little spark was all that was needed to ignite the flame of Lynn's striving path.

And when she scribbled the final words and notations of her symphony onto crisp white paper with excitment boiling in her chest, after years of ups and downs and getting te rug pulled out from under her, Lynn was more than ecstatic and excited to share the news with her friend.

_Lynn heaved a deep breath._

This was a big deal for her, and even though others see it as insignificant to have achieve what she had, she didn't care. She was difderent from most people. Even the smallest details brought her the most joy, and she loved that about herself. When your days are counted, you learn to pay attention to the nows and what they had to offer.

"I finished my draft," she offered with a subtle simper.

Brady, who was busy getting ready for his shift which was starting immediately let lips curl in a proud smile and his chest rumbled with a low laughter.

"You sly little minx!" he exclaimed, slapping his hand onto his jean-clad knee, "And when did this happy accident happen exactly? I thought you've been too busy with work to- well, _work_, on your music."

The kettle spurted to life, water trickling out of its nozzle as Lynn scrambled to turn it off. She tipped it into her flask, sending steam clouds up into the air to tickle her pink nose before placing it back down.

"Yesterday." She answered, grabbing the sugar off the shelf and loading it into her drink, "I managed to have the entire evening to myself and so I thought I'd get it done."

Brady nodded like a proud father. "I'm proud of you, kiddo."

"Thanks." she replied shyly.

"So when do I get to hear it? Are you gonna perf-..." he was midway through his sentence when Hannah, one of the waitresses came up to the counter. She was glowering in a disapproving manner, and Brady could already tell what she was about to say wasn't in good sights.

"Brady, your shift started eight minutes ago..." she stated, her piercing blue eyes glaring his way,"...get off the phone and get to work."

Brady nodded and she was off, disappearing into the kitchen.

He sighed, returning his attention back to his call.

"Even if I was going to -which I'm not- where would I perform it?" Lynn quizzed as she grabbed her keys and pushing the door open, stepped out into the hallway. A stray newspaper lay in front of her door . _Weird._ She never subscribed to the paper. Shrugging, she picked it up and tossed it back into her apartment.

Her last gig was in a little cafe a few streets down maine which had shut down 5 months earlier. Termites.

Brady, whose mind was already filtering through potential performance spots as he returned to the kitchen to fetch his apron, pondered before coming up with an answer. It had been right in front of their faces. He was surprised they hadn't thought of it before.

"Does _Caleb's_ offer live music?" He asked, tying the white piece of cloth around his waist.

"Yeah, they do. Why?"

He responded, "Well there's your chance- play it this weekend; at the party."

"I have a potential date to attend that night, have you forgotten." Lynn retorted, shooting down the stairs of her building and out onto the streets but her mind right away was awakened, interest sparked by the preposition.

Lynn knitted her brow. She couldn't believe that it hadn't come to mind before; there would tons of people there, the perfect audience to debut her music too. Her original stuff. All her previous performances were covers, but this way she could release her very own sound.

But she couldn't. She couldn't do that to joey; just skip out on their date- if at all there was any- for her own selfish needs.

_Or could she?_

There was a silence as she contemplated. _Was she really up for this? Was she that selfish of a person_? Lynn was at the tipping point of her decision inbetween yes and no, and all that was required was a shove strong enough to push her in whichever direction.

Brady was that shove.

He tugged his lower lip between his teeth.

"Hear me out..."

* * *

**_Well, this chapter has been a mouthful. I tried to keep it short- believe me, I did -but I just kept writing and writing and things really just got out of hand...In a good way (?)_**

**_Hopefully you guys enjoyed this chapter, I know I had so much fun writing this :)))_**

**_Tell me what you think will happen next; what will Lynn chose, playing her song or going on her date? Is it even a date?_**

**_All this answered in Chapter 9._**


	9. Chapter 9

_**~Last night~**_

_The air buzzed with an ambient light spreading throughout the city streets, each wisp of wind carrying the night life along with it. The moon was out, shining down onto the orange-hued sidewalk lit by streetlamps, and onto the two strutting figures of two young men finding their way around the curb and into the warm and welcoming environment of a bar._

_The bell rang it's familiar chime, the sound dissipating into the white noise of the huge crowd inside as the two men stood at the entrance for a bit, observing the liveliness of the place, scanning the room for a good seat to down their liquor. The pent up stress of the day straight away left their bodies like steam from a teapot as soon as they stepped in._

_A pair of hazel eyes, encapsulated in the skull of the taller of the men, landed on the bar where two leather stools stood un-attended to. The pair made their way to the spot, lighthearted chuckles escaping both of them._

_Outside, the air continued to swirl into a fit of vigor, shaking auburn leaves from their homes on the trees, littering the ground they fell to as passersby fastened the buttons on their coats, and a young girl with red hair pulled her arms tighter around her waist. A man with raven black hair, lightly whipping at the side of his chiseled face and swirling blue eyes, passed the girl with a grin and suddenly laced his stone cold fingers around her wrist, making her jump._

_She immediately shivered, turning to the man with a surprised scowl and the black haired stranger raised his hands apologetically._

_"I'm sorry, ma'am. You seem cold..." he apologized, a smile still present beneath his ocean blue eyes. The red-haired girl parted her red lips to say something in passing as her light footsteps led her a few inches away from the man, but before she could say anything, he cut her off. He trailed his slender fingers further up her arm, their calloused tips begin to grow warmer and burn with an orange hue, although not hot enough to harm her. _

_"Perhaps I can help with that." He grinned, and the girl jerked her arm away before the warmth could grow any stronger, huffing and rolling her eyes as she continued walking. The man snickered to himself, and continued into the bar, pulling his pea coat tighter around himself._

_Inside, Sam and Dean had already ordered a gin and whiskey and were already downing them like sailors, their formal ties loose knots around their necks and their sleeves folded to their elbows, exposing their toned arms._

_Bringing the brink of the glass to his chapped lips, Sam slurped up the bitter liquid, burning his throat as it traveled south, and smacked it onto the counter with, averting his attention to the black-haired bartender curling her red lips into a grin._

_His hazel eyes shot to the nametag on her maroon polo shirt, and back up to her almond shaped eyes._

_"So what is it that brings you two to New York?" she asked the younger Winchester, lifting an empty glass, placing it on the shelf behind her and wiping the counter viscously._

_Sam took a sip of his drink, and said. "Business. We're re-opening some case file from a few years ago involving the death of a local entrepreneur." _

_The bartender grabbed a bottle of tequila from the shelf, filling it into a glass and handing it over to one of the customers to her left before returning to the brothers, glancing between the two. She nodded, creasing her brow subtly._

_"You two feds?" she cautiously drew out, gesturing between the two with her finger as Dean spun his drink in its glass. _

_"FBI to be exact."Sam replied, bringing the glass to his plump lips once more. _

_The bartender's brow shot up, her brown eyes widening with surprise, and she laughed in disbelief, taken back as she scanned the grinning man's expression. What in the world were the two then doing in the bar, carefree and chugging enough booze to make them red in the face?_

_"No way,.." she shook her head, smiling slightly as she grabbed the damp burgundy cloth and begun wiping the counter once more , "...you don't look like it."_

_Dean signaled for the brunette for another drink, chuckling in low tone as he asked, "Not enough bark for you, kiddo?" _

_"Or is it the absence of the sticks up our asses?" Sam added, lifting his filled glass, whiskey almost spilling over the brink, and clinking it to Dean's. The two downed a sip in unison, wrinkling their noses at the burn while the bartender shuffled around behind the bar, tending to customers as she responded to Sam's statement._

_"Right on the nose, Sammy," she filled another glass with vodka and trotted to the other side of the bar to hand it over, calling back over her shoulder._

_"You two just seem-..." she handed the heavily tattooed man his drink, forcing a smile as she returned to get some refills, "...more laid back for FBI, that's all. It's not every day they take their time to waltz into a bar late at night and get shitfaced, right?"_

_Sam winked playfully, "Well I guess we're one of a kind."_

_At this, a coy laugh escaped The bartender's mouth as she maneuvered around behind the counter, and out of the corner of his eye, Sam could already see Dean grinning at him wildly from behind the brink of his glass. The younger Winchester rolled his eyes sipping on his drink and hoping Dean's gaze would shift onto something else in the radiant bar, like the attractive redhead who had just stepped in, but his eyes remained fixed on Sam waiting for The bartender to leave to another customer, and the elder Winchester pounced._

_Dean smacked his brother's shoulder playfully, roaring with proud laughter. "We're one of a kind, huh?" he teased, grinning like a Cheshire cat. _

_Sam rolled his eyes again, but couldn't help the bashful smile slowly creeping onto his pink face, no matter how much he tried. He hoped Dean wouldn't notice, thinking instead that it was the alcohol taking a toll on the hazel-eyed hunter._

_"Dean, you're drunk. I can literally smell your liver decaying as we speak." Sam chastised, still simpering as he sipped on his almost empty glass. The elder Winchester let his hand slip from his brother's shoulder and onto his lip, clapping onto his jeans clad thigh._

_"C'mon, Sammy, you know I can hold my liquor." He argued teasingly._

_"Yeah, that's not what your breath is saying." Sam replied, finishing his drink with a bitter bite of his lip as he placed the glass down. His gaze traveled to the bartender who was busy chatting with a dark-haired man in a matching polo- most likely a colleague._

_Sam's action never went unnoticed by Dean, and he once more nudged him on the shoulder playfully, this time more gentle. The younger Winchester snapped his head back at him._

_"What?" He asked innocently. _

_"She is cute." The green-eyed hunter stated, jerking his chin in the brown-haired girl's direction. Sam turned and nodded._

_"Yeah, no doubt. " He replied nonchalantly, tapping his finger against his glass. He was waiting for The bartender to come back so he could ask for a refill._

_He shifted in his seat, rolling his shoulders and averting his attention to his brother as he said, "But we are here on business. Meaning no distractions- hook ups included."_

_As the Dean was listening to his brother rant, eyes landed on the red-head from earlier, just across the room._

_"You keep living by that philosophy, Sammy." Is voiced trailed off, all of sudden his interest peaked by the girl. His eyes met with her pale blue ones as she smiled at him, and the elder Winchester returned the action, saluting her with two fingers like a soldier. _

_He turned to Sam who was laughing at him, not surprised by his playboy antics. "I got other plans."_

_"You do that." Sam said, noticing that the bartender was already returning to her post at the bar. _

_This time he was the one to call for another round of drinks, raising his fingers in the air, and once she brought them over, he and Dean continued to converse joyfully, happiness- and drunkenness- emitting from them like rays of light._

_The night went on with the two drinking and engaged in quality banter until the clock struck midnight and they bolted out of the bar, staggering and tripping over their own feet as they headed for baby. They both clambered into the car, with Sam riding shotgun and falling asleep as soon as Dean reversed out onto the road. _

_Inside, the bartender- Gaby- was busy wiping the counter where the two Winchesters had just been, collecting the stray glasses littering the place and stacking them in their places when a dark haired man in a pea coat, his face and glimmering blue eyes sullen and looking rather down, entered, and took a seat in one of the stools._

**_~ Now~_**

The bell chimed from its spot above the door, and the two Winchesters strode into the room, scanning the scene and taking in the look of things, customers, employees- the layout in general. As hunters, they had grown accustomed to this routine of keeping a keen eye out, even in the most innocent of moments. A few pairs of eyes landed their way, curiosity swimming in them and in some, fright, but the boys never gave these much attention. They were surprised that people were still filing into the little lounge taken just the previous night there had been a murder just nearby. Most people would steer clear, but after being alerted by Cas that the owners wanted to keep things hush to keep business booming, they never gave it another thought.

They strutted over to the bar just a few strides across the entrance and stood in the spot they had been at the previous day. The smell of tequila rang through their senses, pungent and thick, and they scouted out for whoever it was handing out the liquor. The bartender, Gaby, was nowhere in sight.

The younger Winchester drummed his fingers lightly on the marble as his eyes filtered through the room of unfamiliar faces, watching as teenagers chatted fluorescent amongst each other, a few couples sat in the ambiance of their afternoon lunch, and employees whizzed around the lounge like busy bees in a hive. The place was even more packed than usual, and after scrutinizing majority of the faces of waiters and waitresses looming over the tables of their customers along the tall walls of the place, Sam realized that the person they were looking for was most likely not even there.

"I don't think she's here." He sighed. Dean's gaze followed the trail his brother left around the room as he spoke.

"You're sure?" He asked as he leaned back against the marble ledge of the counter prickling into his side slightly.

Sam cut his drumming short and pocketed his hand. He replied, "No trace of her. And no one here I can remember from last night."

"You were shitfaced- even if anyone from last night was still here, you wouldn't realize it." Dean countered, "To be honest, if they're still here from last night I'm sure the only thing they remember is the label of their liquor."

"True that." Sam admitted with a light chuckle. He turned back around to face the shelf of drinks behind the bar, palms flat on the counter as he searched some more.

He scanned the shelf absent-mindedly, hazel blinkers topping momentarily on a bottle of bourbon, squinting at it. It was the one from the previous night, he thought- he could tell by how little was left in its tinted casing. He and Dean had gone hard.

"I'm gonna go ask around to see if she came into work today."Sam stated as he clapped his brothers shoulder, eyes still fixed on the shelf, and with an affirmed nod from Dean, sauntered away.

The elder Winchester remained in place, breathing relaxed and steady. His chest rose with each breath he inhaled, and deflated each time he breathed it out, calm and placid.

After Sam's pep talk earlier that day, Dean was already fueled up and ready to take on the day, and any trial that came with it. That's what made him feel so...good. He was back in the game, no longer doubting his abilities because of the mark. That was good wasn't it? Great, even?

Dean's confident stature was back in place as it was supposed to be, never faltering as he stood people-watching from the bar. He hummed a tune to himself when a couple just across the room caught his peering eye.

They were young- maybe in their early twenties or so –, sitting across from each other with their fingers intertwined, beaming at one another. Their laughs were muffled, stilled into white noise and absorbed into the rest of the chatter filling the room; but it never faded. It kept on erupting from the two, and then disappearing into the noise once more, starting up all over again. Dean's lips tugged up at the sight, a chuckle of his own slipping from his nostrils.

He begun to wonder what it would be like, falling in love. _Would it hurt?_ Had those two gone through terrible hardships that in the end only strengthened their profound bond? Or was it easy? Dean didn't know. He was curious; how did it all work. Putting your heart in the hands of someone else and giving them the ability to curb stomp it. These questions were usual in the elder Winchesters mind- he thought about things like this quite often, not just guns and the way they go bang. They did bring him down a bit, but not a slump he couldn't get out of- he pushed past it, always.

_But just recently, all that changed drastically._

A few months back, while Sam and Cas were out hunting a rugaroo in Ohio, Dean seemed to have the bunker to himself and decided to do a little relaxing- channel surfing was his go to decision. He plopped down onto the couch, and watched a few reruns of game of thrones, had his laughs with an episode or two of parks and recreation, and when the night was almost coming to an end, and his droopy green eyes were almost falling shut, he decided on re-watching Sweet November. It was something he had only seen once, and hadn't recalled it to be terrible, so he sat through all two hours of the film, occasionally scoffing at the chick-flick moments yet never really turning it off. But it wasn't until the end; the film was already tapering off with the scene where Nelson was left alone in the park, Sara far gone after she blindfolded him and said her sweet goodbyes. The scene was oozing with sadness, the sad expression splayed on the heartbroken man's face, the slow music providing an even sadder undertone- the whole build of the movie never mattered anymore; not the spark of the two character's relationship, not all the intimacy the two had built throughout the two hours of Dean's silent watching. Nelson was alone now, with the love of his life gone. The whole course of the film was shattered with that one devastating ending, showing the sad dark haired man standing in despair. It was heartbreaking. Dean immediately reached for the remote, and turned off the TV; but the cruel realization of his position had already struck the elder Winchester like a hammer to the gut. _He too would die alone._

With on the mark imprinted onto his arm, he wasn't going to have time for a relationship. Eventually, if Sam and Cas didn't find a cure and rid him of it, he wasn't even going to have the capability of loving anyone. He would turn to stone, and no one would matter to him; not Cas, not Sam. No one. Dean Winchester would be incapable of love, incapable of having anything you'd see on TV, anything like what Sara and Nelson had, the fiery love for each other fueling each day they marked off their November calendar, as long as it lasted. He immediately started to panic, mind flowing like a rapid river, and that's what scared him even more. It stilled him in fear.

He was never one to worry about these things, of love and anything past the sheets of his bed, but...he did. By God, he did; and it shook him internally, quaking his entire existence.

It wasn't that Dean wanted a relationship, - he was a hunter, that was the least likely case for him in the end -, but he wanted- needed- to know he was still able to have one. To be human; like the stupid cliche love struck idiots he saw on TV, or the couple having lunch standing right across him at the moment. It was the closure he needed.

As Dean stood watching the happy couple, the ginger-haired girl tossing her head back in laughter, his mind flashed to that night, the way his heart had sunk so low he could barely feel it beat, and he instantly folded up the sleeve of his coat, now exposing his tainted arm.

He lightly traced a thumb over the mark; _the very thin line between his humanity._

_He didn't want that._

He wanted..._that_. Someone his laughter could dissipate into the air with, and yet, only a few seconds later, be reborn. Dean Winchester wanted that. That humanity; _love._

Dean sighed to himself, gaze shifting to the toes of his shoes.

Now wasn't the time to spiral into thought, but rather get the case done. He was used to these feelings bubbling up from time to time now seeing as in the past weeks they had been doing so a lot, but this meant he was also used to shutting them out. He was in a good mood. He had his hunter mojo back, and wasn't going to let anything throw him off. _Not today at least._

_He was in a good mood._

Furiously rolling down his sleeve, he adjusted himself, and averted his gaze to something else. Something, which now appeared to be his approaching brother walking towards him with a dark-haired man at his side.

Dean squinted. He recognized him- from the previous night, but his drunken state then had kept him from memorizing where he had seen the stranger.

Once Sam reached his brother, he introduced the man as the bartender, Gaby's coworker. Dean nodded, and outstretched his hand.

"Joey." He stated, his hand falling to swing at his side once he withdrew.

"Pleased to meet you." He smiled with tight lips and the man returned the gesture calmly.

"So you work with Gaby?" Dean asked, folding his arms in front of him.

Joey nodded, "Yeah,- she came into work today but had to leave immediately."

Sam creased his brow, and Dean mirrored the action as they exchanged glances.

"Why'd she leave?" the younger Winchester pried, and Joey sighed uncomfortably, rubbing his palms together.

"Man, I don't do well with interrogation..." he muttered and both men awaited a proper response. Joey gladly gave them this.

" She was the one to find the body this morning." He stated hesitantly, turning his head to each Winchester, "...out in the alley. Poor gal was scared out of her wits- said she needed to take the day off."

"Do you know when Gaby will be back?" asked Dean.

"Well she'll most likely be here for the party on Saturday. It's a company thing, pretty big, so we'll need all the staff here to help it run smoothly." The dark-haired man stated, shoving his hand into his pockets.

"And you think after finding a dead body roasted like a turkey out in the alley she'll just hop out of the shock and come to the party?" Dean mused, sass dripping eminently in his tone.

Joey shrugged, swaying on his feet slightly.

"Well, Gaby's a strong one. She's got the balls to handle stuff like that..."he nodded at both men, "...she'll be fine. Trust me."

Sam and Dean had no doubts with Joey since he had a reportedly firm relationship with Gaby, and followed his word, instead guiding him off to a table to set in the corner of the lounge to ask about the death.

Outside, the sun bled out from behind the clouds, dancing on the skin of pedestrians and lighting up the day.

* * *

"God's sake!" Lynn exclaimed loudly, strutting through the front door of the packed diner, unwrapping her burgundy scarf from her slim neck and causing eyes to fly to her rigid form. Brady, who was standing by one of the booths, taking an order from a shriveled old lady with kind green eyes, glanced over to the entrance, finding a fuming Lynn headed straight for the kitchen. He wondered what had just happened, nodding to the old lady and once pocketing his notebook, retreating back into the kitchen to find her. Lynn was busy muttering a few profanities under her breath as she rinsed the hem of her shirt under the tap. The water splashed onto the material and she wrung it between her tapering fingers, squeezing.

Brady approached her from behind, craning his neck to the right to get a better view of her face. She was scowling bitterly, the water splashing onto the rest of her outfit.

"Good morning." He stated calmly, eyes still wide and still running up and down the fuming waitress' frame.

She sighed long and heavy, turning the tap off and spinning around to face him.

"Look at this," Lynn said, pulling the hem of her shirt and wiggling it at Brady, "some wad with passed me by in his car and splashed water from the road all over me."

Brady shrugged inspecting the brown-stained material.

"It's not that bad." He tried to convince her, but Lynn could see past him, slumping her shoulders and glaring at him. He merely bit his lip to hold back a smile.

"Okay, fine. It's bad." He started, closing the space between the two of them with long strides as he came to inspect the damage done. He picked the dirtied hem out of Lynn's hand and rubbed it, feeling water trickle out of it before dropping it to her hips.

"I can give you one of my spares." He stated, staring at the brown stain. Lynn sighed.

Brady scampered off into one of the supply closets, grabbing a white band tee for Lynn. It was an old band tee, "Gavlin" written on it in sharp pointy italic. He had kept it around for whenever a customer accidentally spilled their coffee onto his shirt and he needed to change (that being more often than he'd hoped).

He strode his long legs back into the kitchen, bringing the shirt up to his nose to sniff it. Yup, clean.

He tossed the balled up shirt at Lynn."Here"

She stretched out the shirt, tilting her head to look at it before crumpling it up in her fist.

"Thanks." She said, smiling apologetically at Brady who stood with his hands in his pockets, "And sorry for my outburst out there. I don't exactly want to show up to my potential date looking like I got run over by a truck.

Brady waved his hand dismissing Lynn's statement.

"No sweat. You did scare the sit out of a few customers-"

"Old lady you were waiting on?" she asked suppressing a smile and he nodded vigorously.

"Her wrinkled old hands were trembling."

"Sorry." She said flushed with slight embarrassment. She never meant to scare old ladies- that was the last thing she wanted to do.

Brady's eyes met with Lynn's grey ones and softened, seeing the anxiety swirl behind them. She had always been good at hiding when she was nervous, _but he was even better at finding out._

"You're making the right choice." He reassured her.

After their long conversation on the phone, Brady had managed to sway Lynn into performing at the bar the upcoming weekend, voicing out how it should be her number one priority. And it should've. She should've put her career first- because that was what she was here for in the first place. She had passed off numerous chances to get her big break earlier on out of doubt, fear that she wouldn't make it, but that's why he was here. To push her through this time; and he did. Lynn was on her way to Caleb's right now.

"Doesn't feel like it- "she looked down at the toes of her boots, fumbling with the shirt in her hand "-Joey's a good guy. It doesn't feel right just..." she waved her hands up in the air vexed by her decision.

She was feeling guilty and worse, having second thoughts about this, but at the same time, Lynn knew just as much that she need this big break. Even if playing at Caleb's wasn't going to do anything to boost her career. It probably wasn't to be fairly honest. There was a probability that she would play her song, earn a few cheers from the audience and then proceed with her regular life, not hearing the phone ring from a big time producer; that she would remain in the same spot she was now

But either way; Lynn wanted this. She wasn't going to live forever. She wasn't going to live for long.._.she needed this._

And in the end, where she was now wasn't bad. It was good. It was the best she had been in a long time- maybe staying there wouldn't be so bad?...

"He's a nice guy." She admitted finally lifting her gaze to meet Brady's.

"He is. And you're a nice girl. Putting your passions before his doesn't make you bad if it makes you happy." He stated, playing with the hem of his apron.

Lynn's mind was immediately set at ease at the brunette's kind words, and she nodded. She headed off into the bathroom to change and Brady returned to wait on the customers.

Once she fit her head through the neck hole of the shirt, tousling her black hair and making a few strands fall onto her face, she said goodbye to Brady and was off to see Joey, picking at the calluses on her fingertips as she walked through the streets of New York. She was a bit nervous.

Once she arrived at Caleb's, Lynn stood outside the door for a few seconds, catching her ragged breath and wringing her hands in front of her. She was never good at these things- hell, she had never even encountered these things. This was a first for her. But after Brady's speech and nudge in the right direction, she had decided on playing at the bar; that part was easy- making the decision. Taking a step to fall through with it; not so much.

With her chest rising with a heavy breath, Lynn started counting backwards from ten as she made her way into the bar, pacing her steps with her breathing. It was something she had learned to do when the scratching got too bad, or reminded her too much of what was going on on her wrist. Over the years, picking at her skin was more of a trigger than a solution, and so she had to find a substitute. She found that counting could suffice.

_Ten, nine..._

As soon as she stepped into the room, the warm air hit her skin and the white noise of people's chattering filled her ears, a sound she was too familiar with. Normally she wouldn't think twice about it, but now it only amplified her anxiety.

She was down to four when she spotted a tall robust man standing at the bar with his back turned to her. His hair was a deep brown and standing in all directions and his muscles flexed and tightened with each movement of his arm as he maneuvered them doing what Lynn could only imagine as fixing some drinks. Squinting her eyes, she realized it was Joey.

Before she could reach the bar, she had already finished her first set of numbers and had started on a new one, going to 6 when she finally came to a halt.

She cleared her throat, waiting for him to turn around.

_'This is for the best_' she told herself '_If anything, he'll understand'_

As Joey turned around, his deep brown eyes met with Lynn's and smiled.

"Uh, hi." She greeted, folding her arms on the counter top. The brunette mimicked her.

"How you doin'?" he grinned, and Lynn felt a laugh bubble past her lips. That was one Joey's signature phrases along with "where's the food?" of which she both laughed at.

"What brings you here? Twice in one week more so." The bartender asked, running his hand through his mahogany locks.

"Was just in the neighborhood, thought I'd drop by and see how things are going. How's business?" she made small conversation, picking at the black band around her wrist.

At this though, Joey's happy expression changed and he grimaced. This didn't go unnoticed by Lynn's eye- it couldn't. joey always had that happy gleam in his eye, a glint of joy you could never miss. It's absence was a great deal, and usually had to be brought about by something big. What could be bothering him?

"What is it?" She asked cautiously, adjusted her posture and standing up straighter. Joey bit his lip and shifted his eyes elsewhere, making Lynn furrow her brow and smack his shoulder from across the counter, tightening her lips into a straight line.

"Joey!" She scolded all nerves, " What's the matter?"

The brunette looked at her slightly offended by her actions as he grasped his arm, mouthing an 'ouch' and she immediately contained herself. She had the bad habit of being impatient.

"You know you don't have to be so crass." Joey whined, ailing the spot on his shoulder with the palm of his hand. Lynn sighed apologetically.

Her voice was softer as she spoke, "Okay- sorry. Now, what's going on?"

Joey's hand fell aside hers flat on the counter as he glanced around the room, left and right before setting his gaze on her.

"There was a murder last night, out in the alley. "he whispered. Lynn's heart dropped, shocked by the words flying out of his mouth.

"What?"

She practically shouted, earning a few glares from nearby customers and he shushed her.

"Quiet." He reminded and she nodded, urging him to go on.

"Last night- late at night, while I was working the night shift- some guy came in for a drink-" he spoke silently, "-he hung out here for a while, you know? Had a couple beers, mingled? He was a usual here. Derin Peterson..."

Lynn nodded, folding the fiber of the band on her arm.

"...Yeah, so, all I know is one minute this guy's in here having a couple of cold ones, laughing it out until he calls it a night and then leaves, and the next thing I know..." Joey voice trailed off and his gaze faltered, falling now to the surface of the counter. His expression was sullen, and feeling pity surge through her veins, Lynn hesitantly reached for his hand.

She wrapped her warm fingers around it like a coiled vine, her touch comforting and the brunette glanced over at his hand before continuing.

He sighed. "They found him out in the alley roasted like a thanksgiving turkey. His face was barely recognizable; the only thing that sold him out was his hair- well, what was left of it. Fiery red..." Joey glanced up to meet Lynn's grey orbs. If she wasn't tense before, she certainly was now.

"That's how I knew it was him." Joey finished.

She frowned at the broken man's expression. Judging by Joey's behavior, he was really shaken up by the news.

He must've known this guy real well, probably identifying him with a certain cocktail he always ordered, or a certain joke he would tell him each time he came in. Lynn could tell his death struck a bit of a chord in Joey, whether it was because he felt sorry for the guy, or he was worried for business. That could've been the other option; a death right outside your parlor doesn't always boost ratings.

Whatever the reason though, be it the latter or otherwise, now wasn't a good time to say what Lynn was here to say. To break off their date. Joey was probably already stressed out about the whole case, probably as much as she was, because Lynn was scared.

She was damn terrified. The cogwheels in her mind started to turn.

Did this have any relation to the FBI being in town- the two agents from the diner? She couldn't help but feel that these two cases were linked somehow, and it scared her even more as she begun to think of herself as a piece of the puzzle, a specific role saved just for her.

That was when it struck Lynn high and hard, causing the air in her lungs to dissipate.

_Fire._

_That's what she could recall._

Painful blistering hot fire stripping a body of its skin, making its victim cry out in pain as it licked at their flesh. She could feel it; their agony. The sizzling of their bones. She could hear their cries of pain raking through her body. The feeling resonated with her, and before she knew it, Lynn felt her breathing speed up.

Joey's face contorted into one of concern as he squeezed her hand."You okay?" he asked.

Immediately, at the warm feel, the black-haired girl was pulled out of her trance and gazed at her friend, mouth ajar and brow furrowed. She was at loss of words at the thoughts currently running through her mind, but no matter what, pushed it down. She didn't have time for these feelings now. She needed to deal with them later- now, her main focus was what Joey was currently mouthing to her, his voice muffled due to her attention being elsewhere..

She turned to him, befuddled.

"Sorry, I didn't catch that." She voiced out, noticing her hand was still intertwined with his. She never withdrew.

Joey swallowed nervously."I said I don't think this Saturday is going to work with all this happening."

Lynn's eyes widened at his statement.

"You mean the party?"

"No, uhm,"the brunette scratched the back of his neck," I meant our date."

She couldn't tell whether it was from hearing the confirmation that indeed, Joey meant for this weekend to be a date, or the fact that she had managed to get out of it without breaking any hearts. Lynn's anxiety and fear were suddenly replaced by feelings of relief.

"Oh." She feigned surprise, not wanting to come off as too eager to escape their date (that would just be rude.)

"Yeah, it's just- this is all too much to deal with in terms of the business getting affected. And I don't mean to be a wank acting like I care about my job more than you..." Joey rambled, quickly adding the last part to spare Lynn's feelings, "…but, it's just better this way."

Lynn nodded, swiping her black her out of her eyes ."I get it. No need to apologize."

"Sure?"

"Yes. It's completely understandable, no worries." She stated, straightening her posture once again. Joey's face flushed with relief, obviously happy that she had handled his words so well.

"Well, great then." He clapped his hands together.

"You can still come to the party if you want though. Just as a guest." He added, and Lynn was just about to neglect his offer, already opening her mouth, but she topped when she heard a familiar voice call over to them. It was rough but sultry, a masculine tone to it as it rapidly spoke.

"Mr. Harrison," the man shouted for Joey, making both him and Lynn crane their necks to see who it was.

And that's when Lynn realized whom it belonged to; the person whose voice she had found so appealing calling to them as they sat in the comfort of one of the booths in a nearby corner. Her brow right away shot up, and out of instinct she turned away from the two men beckoning the brunette over.

Joey's eyes skittered onto Lynn's panicking frame and he creased his brow.

"Uhm, what are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing, Joey?" Lynn snapped, fidgeting in her seat and pulling her hair over her face to mask it.

"Making a fool out of yourself." He plainly replied and she shot him a death glare. The bartender raised his hands in defense. "What? You are."

Lynn huffed agitated then turned away even more.

"I need to go." She said sternly, standing from her seat and adjusting her purse over her shoulder. Joey remained looking at her dumbfounded and waiting an explanation.

She glanced over her shoulder to find the two men's eyes trained on her and as soon as she did, she immediately regretted it when her big grey eyes met with a pair of forest-green eyes. Agent Colby or Miles- she couldn't recall.

He was staring at her, face contorted into an expression of recognition; Lynn took this as her signal of busting out of there. _Something wasn't right._

"I'll text you." She shouted to Joey, not even giving him a chance to respond as she bolted out of the building and onto the streets, basically running as fast as she could to get away from the parlor.

**_Hey Guys; so what did you think? How did this chapter play out? Did you like it? If not, why, and how can I improve it? Don't be shy, I'd leave to hear what you guys think of the story and getting feedback really pushes me to write more knowing that I have an audience reading and perhaps enjoying it._**

**_Next update may be up some time next week- I've already gotten started out on it and I'm super excited to show you guys. I'm quite happy with the path this story is taking, and I'm urging myself to even better it. _**

**_I've also decided that I'm going to write all my chapters from the narrator's P.O.V, and will probably later on edit the ones I wrote from Lynn's into the format. I find myself enjoying myself writing the story out this way._**

**_Thank you so much for all the support. It means tons to me, you guys have no idea. Thank you!_**

**_I hope you all have a great week._**


	10. Chapter 10

Lynn's boots rapidly struck the sturdy pavement as her running slowed down into a more nonchalant jog, realizing that now she was at least in a reasonably far distance from the bar. It was a few strides, a left at the corner and then an equal amount of strides until a sturdy lamp-post where she came to a stop. She was bent over clasping her knees threatening to give out beneath her and panting like a dog. She swiped a few raven locks out of her eyes, clearing her vision a bit.

It was the only thing Lynn could've thought of doing; she had been caught off guard- like a dear in headlights- what other choice did she have other than fleeing from the scene with whatever speck of dignity she had left still intact? She regretted it right away, once standing at the intersection, supporting herself on a lamp post and trying to pace her breathing with numbers.

It was just one of her many unearthed and 'crazy' habits.

That's what Lynn had labeled herself as. Crazy; not just because of what happened- just because of whom she was.

It was in-built in her programming. Having basically lived on the streets when she came to New York, hustling her way through tough times to make ends meet and constantly being on her feet, watching her own back seeing as someone had to. She learned to think on her feet- be swift and agile. Go with the flow as they said. At the time, the flow was rickety and unstable, making Lynn bolt out of there as fast as she could.

Looking back on it, she was embarrassed, hiding her face of shame behind her curtain of black hair as she crossed the road hastily, but there was no turning back. She had already left the bar.

Standing upright and rolling her shoulders, she was just about to begin her walk home where she would throw herself in bed and call Brady about what had just happened, but she was caught midstep by a feeling of warmth gripping onto her shoulder and setting her nerves on fire with shock.

Lynn's stomach lurched at the contact, and she immediately jerked away from their touch, stumbling a bit on her feet before steadying herself.

She hastily whipped her entirety around and as soon as she did this, her wary eyes fell upon the two large masses of the FBI agents standing in front of her.

She gulped.

"Well look who it is." the shorter of the man stated, squinting his eyes from the sun hitting them directly and making them appear a shade lighter. He was standing with his hands in his pockets and his legs reasonably widely apart.

Lynn tried to ignore how intriguing they looked, mentally scolding herself over her distraction, and focused instead on the taller of the men.

"Why are you following me?" she spat still keeping her distance.

It was the taller man's turn to speak up.

"We could ask you the same thing." He stated placidly. Lynn's gaze was evidently a stare- a viscous one at that.

She was looking both men up and down, noting how they were wearing the very same outfits from the other day. She wondered if they had the time to change or were too busy tracking her down.

"Don't be so sure of yourself, agent." She said straightening up, "I was just dropping by to have a word with a friend of mine. Mr. Harrison as you call him."

The boys' interest was right away peaked from the moment Lynn walked into the diner. It was Sam to recognize her, midway through telling Dean who was going to go see the next victim with Cas, when his hazel orbs landed on her form by the bar. He straight away recognized her; her hair, her grey eyes but most of all, the glove she wore round her forearm. He remembered her always scratching at it during their interrogation, and she had been doing the very thing then. Probably a nervous tick- a tell he and his brother could sometime use to their advantage.

He had immediately shown Dean, frantically tapping his shoulder and whispering for him to turn around. They didn't have any idea why Lynn was there, but their suspicions were raised judging by the events of the previous night. Not just for her, but for everyone. Everyone at the crime scene was a suspect.

"And that would be about what exactly?" Dean asked sternly. Lynn turned her head to him.

"None of your business." She replied pointedly and craned her neck to the left like one of those detectives she watched on TV whenever they were challenging an opponent.

His green eyes immediately widened, and he snorted.

"Except it is. This is a federal case, miss-…?"

"None of your business."

"Okay, that's it." Sam cut in, putting his hand in front of Dean who looked like he had just caught a fly in his mouth, glaring into Lynn's eyes as she returned the expression.

"Miss, you're going to have to come with us." He stated.

"Like hell I am," Lynn exclaimed. A few passersby glanced over at the scene and Sam only smiled embarrassedly to ward away their stares before returning to Lynn.

"Why they hell are you tailing me?" She growled.

"Please, don't flatter yourself, sweetheart." Dean muttered, earning Sam's warning eye.

It was now Lynn's turn to widen her eyes as she folded her arms over her chest.

Sam spoke up, "Look, miss-…"

"Deren." She responded, glancing his way. To her, the younger Winchester seemed more reasonable and frankly less of a dick. If at all there was anyone she was going to associate with, it was him.

The hazel-eyed hunter nodded. "Good, Miss Deren," he said, "Forgive my partner- he's the brawn in our team so it's nothing personal."

Lynn scoffed, "I wish I could say the same." She spat at Dean whose temper was now rising with each second she opened up her mouth to speak- rudely- to him.

Sam went on.

"We'd like to ask you a few questions about the death of Derin Peterson, last night? At the bar?" He explained, placing a hand on Dean's shoulder with a firm squeeze, "If you could just come with us."

"I'm not going anywhere, I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"I said I'm not going anywhere." Lynn reiterated with her heart beating rapidly against her chest and rattling her ribs. She was about to pass out if she spent another minute in that spot, panicking at the confrontation.

To Lynn her feelings were justified. She had a right to be nervous- scared even- she was speaking to people who somehow knew. They knew something was wrong with Lynn, that she wasn't clean. At the mention of Arnold, she could already tell someone was on her tail, and if the past months with all the freak deaths weren't bad enough for her, this was the cherry at the top. Things weren't right, and she had been warned about this before.

_He_ warned her; but she hadn't listened.

_Now she had to pay._

Lynn swallowed, heavy and bitter.

"With all due respect agent, you two are full of shit." She declared, making both pairs of eyebrows shoot up.

"Why do you automatically assume I have something to do with the murder from last night?"

Dean was busy swaying back and forth on his feet, watching a crowd grow around them. They were probably worried about what was going on.

"Well you aren't the most doe-eyed lady around-"he muttered.

"Dean!" Sam chastised a growl evident in his voice.

"We're doing this to everyone who was there this morning." Said Sam now back to facing her, "You are a regular there according to Mr. Harrison after all- it's basic protocol. We need to gather as much information as we can and- "

Before Sam could finish his statement, Lynn cut him off immediately, regretting the bitter words as soon as they shot out of her mouth.

"Sanctum case?" She blurted out, nervously glancing around at the crowd of people whom she had collected due to her loud progressions. She ignored their stares, and instead focused on the befuddled Agent's.

"What?" asked Dean with his brow creased in confusion.

Lynn was practically shaking, but she was good at hiding this (Or at least she liked to tell herself she was).

"What relation do you two think I have to that Prison fire?" she pressed, her nerves setting off like fireworks.

"Miss if you could just…" Dean opened his mouth to respond, but before he could say anything Joey cut him mid-sentence as he approached the growing crowd just outside his shop.

"What seems to be the problem here?"He asked, squinting at the two agents backs. Both brothers turned around to face him.

"What are you two doing here?" He asked.

"We're doing our job, Mr. Harrison. Relax." Dean declared, but he too seemed to be a bit infatuated by the whole scenario.

"No, I won't relax," he stated sourly, "You two are causing a ruckus outside my shop, as if I didn't have enough trouble with business as is thanks to last night's events. You need to leave, agent." He rambled. Joey was never good with confrontation, his voice usually even cracked halfway through his speeches, but this time it was stern and never faltered as he persecuted both Winchesters.

There were a few "Ohhh's" from the crowd and a stifled laugh from Lynn, but then she decided now would be a perfect time to slip away. Joey was preoccupied with the agents, and their focus was now diverted, and so sneakily maneuvering through the crowd, she quickly dashed home, leaving both boys to now deal with the very flustered bartender.

Meanwhile, Dean was busy snorting at Joey's remarks, surprised he actually had the courage to talk to feds like that and maybe even a bit impressed.

"Look, Mr. Harrison, we're just doing our job." He stated.

The argument had been going for almost fifteen minutes now, with each of their voices getting louder and harsher with each passing minute, but that wasn't what Dean was worried about. Joey's bickering started to fuel anger in him and irritation that he was holding his back on such an urgent case- and so with this, fueled the mark on Dean's arm. The Mark of Cain fed off of negative emotions, putting them under a magnifying glass and making them into something uglier than they were.

It was doing that with Dean right now, and he could already feel it taking over, making him seethe with irritation. He just wanted to get this job done, and there always seemed to be little bumps in the road holding him back. Dean had had enough.

He knew what was happening to him- he could _feel_ it, but he held his breath and tried his best to control it- to hold onto his humanity, even though he was slowly crossing that very _very_ thin line. He could feel himself fighting it.

"So am I" the brunette retaliated, "and for me to do that smoothly, you two need to be out of here. You're scaring off customers."

"No, I think what's scaring them off is your terrible cream of mushroom soup. I'm sorry you have really shitty food." Dean spat, his stern and loud voice echoing throughout the street.

Sam was just about to say something to Dean, some remark to calm him down probably (he was familiar with his brother's bad temper so he wasn't surprised Dean was being such a child), but stopped himself as he realized something. He spun around to face the crowd, eyes skittering from face to face rapidly.

No.

He took a few steps away from his brother, craning and straining his neck to get a better view of the crowd, but it was no use. She was gone.

"Dean,…" he cautiously called to his brother, eyes still glued in the opposite direction.

Dean ignored him and continued his argument with Joey, refusing to let him have the last word. Childish like Sam had said.

"Look, my point is, conflict doesn't do business good." Joey argued, his equal share of rage showing in his boisterous tone, "Nobody wants to go into a parlor with two large men, who obviously don't know how to do their job, having screaming matches with young girls right outside it."

Dean snorted and made a face like he had a mouthful of hair. "I'm sorry, you're the one running a bar/ crime-scene for a murder who doesn't know to handle any sort of difficulty in business, and you're telling me to do my job."

"Excuse me," utter the younger Winchester as he wormed through the crowd.

"Somebody has to." Joey roared, and Dean could feel his hands ball into fists.

He ignored Sam and instead paid attention to the anger surging through him. The mark began to pulsate on Dean's arm, a hot throb, and he found that this wasn't even about Joey anymore. It was about his carnal desire for destruction- _the mark's desire._

He couldn't fight it. He didn't _want to_.

"Yeah and somebody has to clean up this mess. Clearly, you can't so we'll be harassing whomever we want until we get answers." He prodded.

"Dean," shouted Sam from somewhere in the crowd.

"Ever heard of an interrogation room?" Joey bit back, and he couldn't take it anymore.

This had gone on for too long and the humanity Dean had been holding onto for all this time snapped.

_He_ snapped.

"Listen to me you sell-out son of a bitch," Dean growled as his fingers traveled down to the holster at his waist and he withdrew his gun.

Joey's blood went cold, and Sam who was busy scavenging the coast from Lynn stopped halfway when he saw this.

A bundle of screams were heard in the small crowd as a few mother's covered their children's eyes and all of a sudden the mass started to lessen, with civilians fleeing the scene. It was chaos, but Dean ignored it.

"You ever heard of an itchy finger? Because that's what I'll _just happen to have_ if you don't let me do my goddamn job." The elder Winchester threatened, pulling out the weapon and holding it out in arm's reach an inch away from Joey's forehead.

"Dean!" Sam called for his brother, wide eyes filled with worry, but Dean ignored him.

He couldn't hear him; he couldn't hear anything, except the pulsing of the mark calling to be put to use. He felt it, throbbing with need and blood lust. There was no use fighting it and he ignored his brother's muffled calling to him and the screams of pedestrians. The real Dean would have just hit Joey in the jaw and called it a day; but this wasn't the real Dean. This wasn't even Dean- it was the mark.

The elder Winchester's green eyes darkened with blood lust while Joey said something unrecognizable to his ear.

His finger was right on the trigger, ticking slightly with the urge to snap with a bang, but something was holding him back; keeping him from doing it.

_Something- humanity maybe._

Sam had found his way back to his brother through the crowd, no staring at him with wide eyes as he shouted.

"Dean!" his voice sounded loud and clear, and this time he responded.

"What?" he spat, remaining still as a statue.

Joey stared at the dark barrel of the gun, swallowing heavily. This was it, he thought- everyone thought, Sam, Dean. _He was going to die._

_And it happened just like that._

Out of nowhere, Dean felt himself spin back into his reality and out of the trance.

It all happened so fast, like a wild a whirlwind as the elder Winchester felt his tensed up muscles relax, and his arm slowly lower to his side. His hard green eyes softened instinctively, and Dean right away realized what had just happened.

What he had let happen.

Sure it had happened before with the case with Claire and the guy's she got into a fuss with and some other case involving a vamp nest, but never over something this…innocent. Dean had arguments all the time-the mark never acted on any of them until this one.

He turned to Sam who was staring at him as though he had actually shot Joey, and he had to check to see if he did just in case. He glanced at the dark-haired man who stood staring at him with his mouth wide open.

"Uhm." Was all dean could get out. Everyone- or at least what was left of them- was staring on as well, shocked and confused by what had happened.

Dean's eyes went around full circle, observing the faces.

He was immediately ashamed, and placed the gun back in its pocket.

He cleared his throat and then clapped his hands together as he spoke. "Alright, everyone clear out. Nothing to see here."

At his words the crowd straight away started to dissipate, with a few teenagers standing aside and stating how "sick that just was, fuck".

Dean watched on, instructing passersby to keep on moving as they walked by him, having to remind them that it was nothing. Joey stood watching from the sidelines, still shell-shocked.

"Go enjoy some soup, huh? Fifteen percent off, you can use that extra dollar to maybe buy a better tasting hotdog from down the road." He instructed as people were maneuvering back and forth, a few glaring at the elder Winchester when they passed him. Dean only forced a smile.

"Dean." Sam called quietly from behind his brother, making him whip around to face him. The younger Winchester was staring intently at his brother, his honey colored eyes still filled with shock from what he had just witnessed; more so, whom he had witnessed.

"Yeah?" Dean asked like nothing had happened. Sam could see through his very Dean-esque habit of acting like he was okay, but decided that that was a topic for later (they'd have to address this at one point anyway.)

The younger Winchester shook himself out of his thoughts.

"She's gone." He stated, gesturing to the empty street.

Dean's eyes followed his brother's hand. He shut them and sighed.

_"Son of a bitch."_

* * *

Once Lynn had arrived at her apartment, having battled with her jacked up lock for the first half of things, she tossed her bag aside onto the carpeted floor just by the couch.

She fell down onto the comfort of the couch and hid her face behind her hands, and then groaned. Long and heavy, letting out all her frustrations and yet still remaining with a knot of them bundled up in her stomach. Lynn could feel the knot tighten as she reviewed her actions back at Caleb's.

Rubbing her fingers into her sockets, feeling an urge to just scratch them out, she realized she needed to confront her feelings; no matter how much she dreaded the act.

She needed to sort out…_this_; these past few weeks with all the chaos going on in her life. Lynn felt like she was in the middle of a tornado, and at the same time, for some un-excavated reason, the cause of the damned thing.

At times she'd justify her actions by using the excuse of her time-limit; it always made her feel like less of an ass for feeling down. After all, she had a right- these were her last month's alive. A few more and she would be gone. That too was on Lynn's 'to go over' list; her reckoning death, approaching in a matter of a mere few months, weeks. She didn't want to delve into that just yet- she had managed to avoid the topic for so long ever since her conversation with Brady at the diner (where he was basically pushing her into the dating world). For now, she had this on her plate.

_This mess._

She sometimes always felt like that; like she was the cause of whatever was wrong in her life. She had grown up training herself to take responsibility for her actions, be it the time she and Brady got drunk and went down to queens to re-enact all of Breakfast at Tiffany's at the intersection, nailing it but sadly getting them arrested. Or when she found out Brady nearly lost his job from the incident and made up for it by covering almost all his shifts the following week or so. Or even when she found out that the café where she performed got shut down.

Somehow, she'd find time to think that she was the one in the wrong; it was built into her programming. A bad habit. _A crazy habit._

How was this different from all those times?

Another exhausted groan, coming out sounding more like a deep gravely sigh. She needed to sort this out. _This mess._

Lynn fixed her posture, sitting upright and placing her palms flat out on her lap as she inhaled.

Why were they here? What was happening?

She was completely unnerved by the whole thing with the two agents she was now paranoid were stalking her. She thought she could push it down, move past it- and indeed she had. In her mind, speaking to herself, Lynn earnestly told herself that, and it slipped her mind immediately; no longer on her 'to go over list'. But from the conversation she just had it was back, and pestering her even more.

How was all this related other than correlating with death? How did the Sanctum case come into the equation?

Arnold's death happened years back. Lynn didn't even know the details of the occurrence other than it was a prison fire- a painful, slow and menacing death that killed almost all inmates.… that she was responsible for.

All that pain caused to the innocents who weren't Arnold (they might've been criminals, but that wasn't her battle to fight). People who _hadn't _ruined her life; who hadn't massacred her parents in cold blood in her childhood home; mass murderers, rapists and deviants, yes.

_But not her parent's killer._

Lynn swallowed her pride; the tip of her tongue tainted bitter, and allowed herself to relive the incident- or at least what she could remember of it.

Gun powder; perfuming the air of her kitchen mixed with the bitter stench of iron.

Blood; red spilled onto the white tiling. The ground was from then on stained with a pinkish red hue once the paramedics cleaned it up.

The room, and its occupants, foggy silhouettes blurred by the tears climbing out of Lynn's eyes.

Lynn couldn't remember anything past that; she didn't want to, it had become a habit to block these memories out.

Her therapist often told her victims of trauma often did this to relieve some of the pain- almost like they were telling themselves, "I don't remember this happening, so it must have not".

Some days after the accident, while staying with her Aunt, she had tried to pry some words out of Lynn's mouth about how she felt, how she was dealing with it. She would brush her aunt off, insisting that all she needed was some time on her own to heal.

But it was all a lie, for it was now eight years since the death of her parents and Lynn still couldn't bring herself to even flip through her memory to find that night. It was too painful, and she couldn't bring herself to do it. Or maybe she could. She was challenging herself all these years; trying to see how long she could go, maybe she could even go up until her deathbed. That was what this was.

A race to see how long it would take for her to finally snap, that being the finish line.

The finish line which was just there, right in front of Lynn, black and white and fog dancing in her stirred up mind; arm's reach.

Lynn fluttered her eyelids one more time.

She had only one other option- one more person other than Saul that she could get answers from. He was the last person she wanted to go to, but at this point she was desperate.

Kai was his name; one she dreaded spitting from the tip of her tongue. he was one of the people she went to for answers after the accident.

After the accident, and trips to numerous religious leaders, herbalists and the like, Lynn had stumbled upon a young warlock who could siphon magic from any supernatural source he could find, and said he could be of use to her.

She reached into her pocket, retrieved her phone, and then started to count.

_Ten. Nine. Eight…._

"Arguing about it isn't going to do anything, Sammy." Said Dean as both Winchesters walked back to Baby who was parked right across the street. He reached into his pocket for the keys, unlocking the car and then clambered in. Sam did the same.

"It's so typical of you to say that considering you're the one in wrong here." He chastised, fastening his seatbelt as Dean revved the engine and reversed out onto the road.

"I am in the wrong, I can admit that," Said the elder Winchester "but dwelling on it isn't going to get us anywhere near to finding- what was her name?"

"Deren, Dean. Her name's…something Deren." Sam declared. He clasped his forehead with his hand.

"There," said Dean as they drove down the slick tarred road, "We have a name, and now all we have to do is transfer the details to Cas- who's probably taking a look at the bodies right now as we speak. "

"Your point?" asked Sam bitterly.

"We're one step ahead from where we were earlier on today, so relax, Sam. We haven't lost the whole case with one mishap."

"Mishap?" the younger Winchester whipped his head to face Dean, incredulously gazing at him.

"Dean, you nearly killed a man; over soup."

"He was being a dick- he had it coming." Dean retaliated.

"You pulled your gun out on an innocent man, more so who could actually be of use to this case." said Sam.

Dean scowled. He was tense all of a sudden.

"He had it coming." He repeated.

Sam's distraught gaze never left his brother's face staring ahead as they pulled up into the apartment they were staying at.

He was worried; not only for the people they Dean came into contact with, but his brother as well. He knew the Mark was behind Dean's antics, but decided he'd confront him about it later.

The car came to a stop and Dean killed the engine. He turned to Sam.

"Call Cas." He said handing him the phone. "Tell him we ran into the girl from the diner at the scene of the crime and think she has something to do with this."

"I'm on it." Sam stated as he took the phone from his hand and Dean nodded solemnly, before exiting the car.

* * *

_The light in the morgue was bright. So bright it could almost burn your retinas off cone by cone. For Castiel, this wasn't a problem; he was too busy examining the tarnished body of Derin Peterson, laying flat on a cool metal slide for display._

_He had peering over the corpse for the past five minutes, noting the scarring around his neck much like on other victims. That was a common denominator for all the bodies- scarring, and somehow etched out wrists. The scent of local herb was present as well as it was with all the other victims, but less pungent; more of a lingering stench than a strong pint._

_The angel scratched the forming stubble along his jaw, blunt fingernails scraping the itchy surface and then sighed. He was getting about nowhere with the case other than the clue he had already reported to the boys, and was hoping they at least had some sort of luck._

_Reportedly, they had._

_His phone buzzed to life in his trench coat pocket and Castiel answered it. "Sam?"_

_The younger Winchester spoke in a whisper-tone, almost sullen, and the angel's instinctive response ws to worry that it was bad news. Sam's voice dripped with grief, but he didn't know of what._

_Instead bad news though, the younger Winchester only reported that he and Dean had encountered the girl from the diner and informing the angel that they had gotten her name. "Something, Deren. Look it up maybe." He had said before he hung up._

_Castiel sighed in relief that they at least had something to guide them to the next step in the case, and reveled in that, but underneath that boiled anxiety; from the younger Winchester's tone. Sam hadn't mentioned the incident between Dean and Joey, but still Castiel knew something was up- he just needed to know what._

_He pocketed his mobile once more and returned to the body. Severe burns, hair loss, suffocation marks and in conclusion, hectic death. The angel's soul wept for the poor sap._

_Castiel's eyes wandered to the battered face of the victim, taking in the curves and cracks in its skin, how it was blistered and hued pink._

_And then his eyes landed on the chapped lips of the victim parted ajar._

_To get an accurate report, he did need to get a full analysis of the body, and so Castiel grabbed a nearby pair of gloves, and slid them on, curling and uncurling his fingers to fit them._

_He brought his hands up to the corpse's mouth, parting it more like an unhinged door that fell right open, and right away spotted the twig hidden at the back of its throat. Castiel grimaced uncomfortably and then reached his fingers in to grab it._

_He lifted it up to the seething white light and the angel squinted._

_"Sage?" he asked in a hush tone._

* * *

_**Hey guys! Hoped you enjoyed this chapter, I know I enjoyed writing it. About Kai, I'm sorry it's kind of abrupt how I brought him in, but i think I hinted at it a bit in chapter one when i mentioned Lynn visiting some religious folk and stuff about her issue, so I guess that was a clue. I'll delve into his story a bit more.**_

_**Please review telling me what you think of the story, and don't forget to follow and favorite it. Thanks so much for your support, the feedback and follows I've been getting on this story of late have really been pushing me to continue it and that's why the updates are quite often now, so I just want to say appreciate it sooo much; thank you guys :)**_

_**Merry Christmas!**_


	11. Chapter 11

Lynn's groggy eyes were set on the checkered piece of paper clasped in her left fist as her lips absently sipped at the scorching hot liquid in her other hand. It was a promising Friday morning with the sun peering in through the partings in the drapes and although the day had just started, Lynn could already feel anxiety to go through it boil in her stomach along with her bitter black coffee.

_24 hours._

24 hours, and she'd have to be prepped up and pretty, ready to perform for bounties of people at the party at Caleb's. The last she was there was six days back and the sight wasn't pretty. She had heard about the green-eyed man with sandy colored hair pulling a gun on Joey once she left, and her stomach lurched right away, anxiety spinning a web of fears in her abdomen.

She knew the authorities were pigs- she had learned that on the streets –but to hear that they nearly fired a bullet through one of her friends' heads because he asked them to leave was crossing a certain line. Lynn was sure it had something to do with her, and that only added to the worry of tomorrow night. She had asked Joey if they had dropped by any time throughout the week, and it was reported there was no sign of them. But instead of the two FBI agents they were familiar with, another man with dark hair clad in a trench coat came by twice.

Lynn didn't think much of it- she didn't need to. She had gotten in touch with Kai that every week and scheduled an appointment with him Sunday after church, so she tried to calm herself that everything would be sorted out.

The only thing pestering the young girl's mind was now her performance to be done at Caleb's.

Lynn pursed her lips with another sip of her drink and tried to tame the inner turmoil running wild within her, hoping that she'd at least make it through today without any breakdown or call to Joey to report _some sort of flu_ _she caught taking the bus to work _(she had tried that earlier in the week and Brady had to physically pry her hand free of the phone)

He had been helping her practice the entire week.

He would drop by early in the day, usually midway through her morning meal scheduled at unholy hours of the day—around dawn –and once she scarped the remnants of French toast off her plate and into her mouth, she'd let Brady in. A snarky remark, exchanged eye rolls and a hug would mark the beginning of their day together as they proceeded to clear out the living area to set up.

Lynn's apartment was quite huge; it had a highest ceiling and numerous studio windows to let the light in and she had managed to squeeze both her dining and living room into the large space (her kitchen was what really put her off, with its compact setting).

Then on, Lynn would open her pipes wide, her voice echoing throughout the hollow room as she bellowed harmonies, heart flutter with each falsetto. She lived to sing- it was her sonic boom. What set her nerves off, flaring with passion. Brady would pluck and strum and twine his fingers to the strings of her acoustic, and at the end of it all, they'd leave the apartment in the mangled mess it was and head to work in tow.

At the moment, as she chugged the scorching black liquid down her pipe, Lynn was waiting for Brady to arrive any minute from now. She busied herself looking for seven letter word to mean stupid.

She scribbled the answer onto the paper, chicken scratch hand-writing dotting the little cubes. '_Asinine'_ she whispered to herself as she tucked some strands of hair behind her ear and placed her mug aside.

She continued filling in numerous words such as _repugnant, follicle_, and _ruminant_ for the next twenty minutes or so when the front door shimmied in its raggedy wood frame, and a muffled "mother of God," was heard on the other end, making her watch as the door shook a few more times.

One, two, and it popped right open like a jack in the box along with Brady stumbling into the apartment. He was scowling evidently while Lynn only watched with an amused grin.

The brunette huffed like a bull watching a red cloth, and then glared at the open door.

"You need to get that fixed." He announced, still squinting at the hazardous entrance and Lynn nodded.

She folded up her paper and pushing it further into the table, climbed out of her seat with a flinch once her bare feet hit the cold floor. She yanked her cup from the table then ambled her way to Brady who was unlacing a scarf from his neck.

"Like I haven't tried." She said simply as she waited for him to finish and pull him in for a hug.

She took in his outfit: frayed black skinny jeans, a white 'The 1975' band Tee hanging all the way to his thighs, almost breaching to his knees, and a red plaid shirt under his jacket. His hair was tousled in all directions, a few strands falling over his honey-hued eyes and the lower bit of his face was painted with stubble.

Brady crumpled the black material into a ball and tossed it somewhere by the couch, aiming for the cushion nearest to him but failing and instead landing it on the nearby floor. He shrugged and then turned to Lynn, opening his arms wide.

"Good morning, Evelyn." He greeted as he wrapped his robust arms around her as Lynn struggled to fling at least one over his shoulder.

"Don't call me that," she chastised and Brady's grin only grew wider as they pulled away.

"Why," he gleamed, "It's cute. Like something you'd call your sick cat."

"Always with the chivalry, aren't we?" Lynn replied with a roll of her grey orbs as she returned to the kitchen to fetch Brady a cup as well.

The brunette remained in the large living area, already flopping down on the couch and bringing one knee up onto the cushion as he did this. His pink lips were no longer turned up in a vibrant grin, but Brady's eyes still remained beaming.

_Brady: always smiling._

"So,…" he said in an almost mock voice as Lynn handed him his mug. It was blue with a little boat painted on it in black and white. She fell into the cushion aside him.

"So…?" she asked.

"Are you nervous?" said Brady as he sipped on his drink, "About tomorrow? You've got to be nervous."

"I'm not nervous." Lynn tried to sound stern even though she knew Brady could most likely see past all of it. He probably could, and probably _did_ as he was grinning over the rim of his coffee.

He smiled and then sipped his coffee.

"You'll do fine, Evelyn."

Lynn couldn't help but wrinkle her nose at the nickname.

Yes, technically it was her actual name- Lynn was just an abbreviation of what her parent's had crowned her as at birth. But Evelyn sounded too much for the dark-haired girl. It wasn't her; not anymore at least. Evelyn had died a long time ago in New Orleans with her parents bleeding out on the kitchen floor. Lynn was reborn here in Manhattan.

"I know."—she wringed her hands –"I'll do great. After all, you're the one training me."

"And who better than someone who knows you as well as I do?" Brady cheered as he placed the cup by his foot dangling off the couch.

"You don't even know my name. You keep calling me Evelyn; my name isn't Evelyn." said Lynn with a smile.

Brady stared into her grey eyes.

He always told Lynn she had some of the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen back when he had been trying to get in her pants, and even with those motives gone, his thoughts never changed. Lynn's eyes were a bright ivory, almost white. Calling them grey would only dull them down- Lynn's eyes were ivory.

The brunette's very own hazel eyes were squinted into tight slits in his face as he spoke.

"You're name's not Lynn either, you know." He said, making Lynn smack his shoulder away from her.

"No one has to know that." She said. Brady's Cheshire grin grew wider and he continued to sip on his coffee.

There was a brief silence before he spoke up again.

"So what warm up are you going to do?" he asked, placing the cup down.

Lynn looked up from her hands which she was formerly picking at.

"I don't know—"she said, "—I was thinking doing a cover, something the people are used to to get them pumped for the show, you know?"

"Is that what _you_ want?"

"I want my audience to be entertained." Lynn quipped.

"Oh, Evelyn,"—Brady placed his mug back on the floor—"_Your _audience; you make it sound so grand."

"To me it is." said Lynn, "I haven't been performing for a while now and so this is a bit of a big deal. Not that you of all people would understand. Your life is falling apart- when was the last time you shaved? You look like a hermit?" Lynn scratched the sprouting hairs along Brady's jaw and giggled when he swatted her hand away.

"It's called boyfriend stubble." He said defensively.

"It's called poor hygiene." She was smiling as she said this while Brady was busy running his fingers over his chin. "There's some shaving cream in the cabinet and spare shavers; go." She instructed.

Brady gagged and made a face like he had a mouthful of hair. "That's not in my interests." He said as he got up with his cup and made for the kitchen.

Lynn jumped onto her feet and followed suit, leaning against the door frame as Brady stood rinsing his cup in the sink.

"I have a good feeling about tomorrow- this could be my big break." She said. He nodded, back to her as he turned the knob to the tap.

"I don't doubt it, Lynn." Brady said as he craned his neck to the left, eyes skittering all over the kitchen, "You know I was just trying to razz you a little with what I said before. Where's the towel?"

Lynn pointed by his legs. "Lower drawer."

He bent over, yanking the wooden casing out of its place and picked out the red and white striped cloth.

"I know—"Lynn said earnestly, never in the dark about Brady's humor, as she folded her arm back over her chest, "—I'm just saying this because –you know, it's a big deal –and I don't want you thinking this isn't something I can handle. I can"

"Why do you think that's what I think of you?"

"Isn't it though?"

"No, it isn't."—Brady rumpled the cloth, tossed it over his shoulder and placed the cup on the dish rack—"I've always supported you, Lynn—"

Brady turned to face the dark haired girl and leaned back against the kitchen counter, head tipped to the side as he asked, "—what makes you think this is different?"

And the Lynn looked down at her shoes, unable to meet her best-friend's piercing gaze.

She didn't want to make Brady feel like his support wasn't appreciated- or worse, doubted- but she had this bubbling inside of her for too long now. She had to say something.

"Because of everything before this; how I always seemed to not have my shit together." She said, "You're so used to seeing me jump out last minute- how do I know you still have faith in me to not screw this up?"

Brady rolled his shoulders like someone trying to shimmy off their coat would, appearing even burlier as he stood up straighter. He tilted his head to the side like a little owl.

"Well?" he asked almost expectantly as Lynn looked up at him. She widened her eyes for him to go on.

"_Are_ you going to jump out last minute?" asked Brady, an indignant smirk playing at his lips.

"No, I- why would I?" said Lynn, the words rushing out of her mouth like water from a running tap.

Brady nodded solemnly, keeping his gaze obstinate on the dark-haired girl's very own, not even flinching. It was as though Brady was looking into Lynn's soul- seeing into all her deepest darkest secrets, reading her sins like a book.

The brunette pursed his lips and then turned back around.

"Then there's your answer, Lynn. You have nothing to worry about." He reassured her as he slipped the towel off his shoulder and back into the drawer, shutting it with the toe of his foot.

Lynn, who was busy standing by the door adamant with her arms crossed, let a groan slip past her lips.

"Why do you do that?" she asked, making Brady whip around to face her.

"Do what?"

"That," said Lynn, almost exasperated, "You go all Jesus on me and start speaking parables and shit. Be upfront- what do you make of all of this?"

"What do I make of it?" He laughed.

"About tomorrow? Do you think I am going to make it up there?"

"Lynn," Brady said in tone one would speak to a child in as he took a few steps closer to her.

The dark-haired girl only gave him a vehement stare.

"Do _you _think you're going to make it?" he asked giddily, smiling besides the weight of the conversation.

Lynn on the other hand wasn't taking what they were exchanging lightly, and found the brunette's childish approach to such a topic infuriating- disgusting even. Did Brady even comprehend how heavy this was for her to bring up?

With a swift movement of her wrist Lynn smacked Brady upside the head like a mother disciplining her child, making thee brunette stare at her wide-eyed.

"Ouch."

"Can you be serious about this?" she almost whined while Brady rubbed at the spot on the back of his curly locks, scowling at her actions.

"This isn't a joke, Brady. " She said.

"I know." replied Brady, the tone in his voice almost a plea.

"So why are you acting like it is?" Lyn raised her voice, making him take a step back. All the nerves she had been holding snapped like an overstretched rubber, overwhelmed by how she had kept mute the entire week.

"Why do you always assume something is a petty joke, Brady?

"Lynn, I don't."

"Yes, you do."

Brady scoffed in disbelief, shaking his head fervently.

"I asked you a legitimately valid question: Do you think you're going to make it?" he said, his gaze unwavering as was Lynn's.

And Lynn then realized how idiotic she was being.

Brady did care- he was being serious about all of it. She had just seemed to misread him. He was just being him, always joking around to make even the darkest of moods seem even a tad bit more vivacious.

He was being Brady; always smiling.

She sighed, shutting her eyes and allowing her head to tilt back so she was looking at the ceiling.

"I don't know." She admitted, feeling the weight lift off her shoulders. Brady's stare remained solid, never faltering as he took in what she was saying.

"It's just- the only reason I'm doing this is because I'm trying to prove something to myself. Trying to get back in the game but..." She said, looking back down at Brady, "…getting a gig after such a long time is just such pressure."

The brunette smiled sympathetically at Lynn and nodded, urging her to go on.

She sighed, looking down at her shoes.

"This was why I moved here Brady- what I live for, however many months I have left,"—she shook her gloved arm then let it fall still at her side—"If I fail at this, then it's over….All of it. And I can't handle that kind of pressure."

He was no longer smiling, but frowning with Lynn.

She shifted on her feet.

"Months, Brady," she mumbled, still staring at the toes of her feet, "that's how long I have left to fix this."

Her voice had eventually got lost in the deafening silence of her tiny apartment, and Brady remained standing there, watching Lynn with her head bowed. He felt pity. More than pity- he felt robbed; for Lynn. She didn't deserve to feel like this.

He reached a hand out, searching for hers at her side and gripped onto it. He was cold.

"None of that matters, Lynn." He said and Lynn looked up at him.

"It's all in the past. None of that matter, you know? When I busted my ankle snow-boarding with my uncle Seasall, I was stitched up so bad I looked Frankenstein, but that never stopped me from playing in the snow and dislocating my shoulder the very next year."

Lynn allowed herself to laugh subtly, imagining what a nine-year old Brady with heavily pouted lips while they scolded him sore would look like, but the sound soon faded into nothing, replaced by her very own pursed lips.

Brady was still smiling despite this.

"So you don't think you can do this?" he asked quietly, and Lynn nodded, her raven-black hair cascading over her face.

"No." she stated simply, eyes still glued to the ground, and then Brady spoke up.

He wasn't going to stand seeing her this way; so doubtful over herself.

"Well then, that sucks." He declared before he gave Lynn's lithe hand a small shake and she looked up at him.

He smiled at her once more.

"But I do." He stated firmly, "I think you can do this- so I'm not letting you back out of this. We have practice now, and this kind of thing is keeping us behind schedule. Let's go."

Lynn's stare flew up to Brady, scrutinizing his features marred by determination.

She was touched.

"Okay," she said as all her doubts dissipated.

* * *

"What do you mean its sage?" Dean bellowed, stepping into the mouse-sized kitchen of the apartment.

"You said it was pot; how do you get sage and pot mixed up?"

"I'm not usually involved with drugs or cooking, Dean." Castiel replied from his spot at the doorway, leaning on his shoulder with his arms crossed.

"It doesn't matter anyway," said the angel, sighing, "The fragrance at the victim's houses hasn't gotten us anywhere yet."

Dean was busy uncapping a chilled Guinness he had just fetched from the fridge when he turned to face the angel, a frustrated glower tugging at his features.

"And how is that a good thing?" he sputtered with irritation.

Castiel rolled his baby blues, irritated just as much by the hunter's tone.

"I never said it was a positive, Dean. But that doesn't necessarily make it a negative; it's neutral."

The green-eyed hunter ran a hand through his sandy blonde locks. "Neutral," he murmured cynically.

The slowness of their progress was drawing the elder Winchester to pulling his hair out. Sam was currently doing some research while he and the angel discussed their new lead on the sage Cas found with the corpse.

Dean's hand was still tangled in his tousled locks when into the kitchen stepped sam, cradling his laptop in his arm. He glanced between the two men before speaking.

"Everything okay?" he asked with a wearily cocked brow. Castiel nodded, glaring at the elder Winchester. Dean only rolled his eyes.

"Well, what've you found so far?" he asked, letting his hand drop to his side.

Sam stared at his brother with the same unsure expression for a fraction of a second, ready to say something, but quickly shut his mouth. He shrugged, returning his gaze back onto his brightly lit up computer screen.

"I've been doing some research on any ties sage has with the supernatural," said the younger hunter, hazel hues glued to the screen as he typed away, "and so far, all I'm getting is… positive energy."

Dean scrunched his brow as did Castiel.

The younger Winchester looked up from his computer and his eyes skittered between each of them.

"I mean, nothing on here is negative- it's all on the white magic end of things, nothing dark." said Sam.

"What do you mean nothing dark, there's people dying, Sam?" said Dean with an incredulous tone and looking like he had a mouthful of hair.

"I mean," –he threw a hand in the air— "everything I've found so far associates sage with the good supernatural aspects-purity, angelic presence, cleansing of any evil. It's all on the positive end of the spectrum, Dean, I can't find anything to do with demons or-or evil spirits or anything of that sort."

As he finished, the younger Winchester slumped his shoulders dejectedly, eyes bouncing from his brother's face to Cas' and back.

Dean sighed heavily.

_They needed a break._

* * *

_**So, the second half of this chapter I know wasn't so good, but I feel like I did the first bit some justice. I'm sorry for the delayed update, I was out of town this entire week at a youth camp (which was pretty awesome) and I had literally no access to the internet up until now. **_

_**I hope you guys liked this, **__**please review**__**, favorite and follow as it's always **__**so appreciated.**_

_**Love you all, happy new year.**_


	12. Chapter 12

_Light. _

Flickering brightness to blinding Lynn was convinced it could scorch her retinas into nothing as it pestered her awake.

She was in bed, writhing and stirring in her seemingly never-ending sheets as daylight broke and seeped into her bedroom, falling upon her tired bloodshot eyes.

Her grey eyes fluttered open, followed by a hoarse groan as her eyes adjusted to the seething brightness of the room. Or maybe it just seemed this way to Lynn- she was, after all, worn out from the previous day's events.

It was Saturday, and she and Brady had spent the day prior relentlessly practicing in the comfort of her living room. Her throat still held a subtle soreness from straining her vocal chords all morning and evening, and even the yawned that followed her awakening caused her to wince slightly in pain.

Lynn's hand darted out from underneath her pillow as she lay flat on her belly, and scavenged the side of her bed for her phone, slapping onto the crisp sheets beside her until she found it and tugged it closer.

She fumbled with the password, eyes blazing from the brightness of the screen.

_7:27am,_ her clock read, and Lynn immediately tossed the device aside and buried her head back in her pillows.

_Today was the big day._

* * *

"Shit," Dean winced as he brought his crimson tainted fingers away from his jaw and stared at them scornfully. He sighed, placing them under the running water as he dropped the slightly bloodied razor into the sink, the metal clinking from the contact.

He examined the small cut just below his lip in the mirror, scrutinizing it and subtly tilting his head to the side.

Dean once again, patted his fingers on the cut, trying to see just how deep it was. Pulling them away, his fingers were once again coated with blood, and he quickly reached for some nearby toilet paper to dab onto his jaw.

He was busy aiding the tiny injury when Sam stepped into the doorway and nodded to his brother.

"Hey," he said. Dean's eyes averted to his brother's pajama clad reflection as he greeted him.

"Hey," he replied, neck still craned and mouth slightly ajar.

The younger Winchester jerked his chin in his brother's direction. "Everything okay?" he asked, causing Dean to nod and wave his hand dismissively.

"Yeah, I just cut myself shaving. Damn cheap Taiwanese product." He grumbled, reaching for the razor and waving it in front of Sam like a toy with a child.

The younger Winchester smirked. "Since when do you shave your stubble?" he asked with a surprised expression and then Dean shrugged.

"I like to look good for my social gatherings, no crime in that, is there?" He said as he dropped the razor back in to sink with a clink and continued to dab on the cut.

He glanced at Sam in the mirror.

"No—"said the younger Winchester, still smiling in disbelief,"—it's just… I can't remember the last time I saw you so dolled up and- well, neat."

This caused the elder Winchester to chuckle.

"Please, Sammy—"he said, tossing out the used toilet paper and fetching some new one, "I've been a wall street kind of guy since I was in diapers."

"Really Dean?" Sam laughed.

"You can't remember anything because you were too busy playing in the dirt and getting Swine."Dean teased

"Yeah, I bet." Sam said in a hush tone, and there was a brief silence before he spoke up again, this time clearing his throat before-hand.

"But, uhm, Dean…" he began, looking up from his feet, making the green-eyed hunter look away from his own reflection and unto his brother's.

"Yeah?"

Sam was ready to remind his brother that tonight meant more than just a party- it was a mission, part of the case they had been working so hard to crack. All he wanted to do was set Dean's mind in the right path for the evening- not that it wasn't. But he believed his brother's mind was more set on the copious amounts of alcohol and frivolous flirting rather than tracking Lynn down.

_The mark was a contributing factor to this notion._

It not only made Dean a bloodthirsty savage, but in general tarnished his humanity- distorted his morals that would allow him to decipher what was right and wrong, and that meant the mission was at stake. It wasn't something bothering Sam to the extreme –knowing Dean was strong enough to control the mark as he did to that very day –but it was like a little gnawing at the back of the younger Winchester's skull; something he just had to be sure of.

all Sam was going to do was give him a little nudge in the right direction, but even that seemed to be giving him a hard time. He didn't want Dean to think he thought so little of him that he wouldn't trust him on such an elementary case and that caused him a bit of unease as he spoke.

"About the case,.." he began, "I'm just hoping we're on the same page on- well, why, we're going to this party…?"

"Yeah- for the case." Dean affirmed as he tossed yet another bloodied tissue into the bin, but even that wasn't enough to settle Sam's uneasy mind.

He decided to dig a little deeper.

"The case being Lynn, right?" he asked as the elder hunter finished throwing away what seemed like the hundredth tissue in the bin and quickly rinsed his hands.

Sam remained with his arms crossed, leaning against the doorway.

"Getting some answers from her?"

Dean dried his face hastily and tossing the towel to the side, turned to face his brother, brow furrowed slightly.

"Yes, Sam. I know." He said in tone a child would use with an overly-protective mother, "I know how this case works- I know how to do my job. In case you've forgotten; I'm a hunter."

He finished with an expectant look aimed towards Sam who was still staring at his brother unsurely. Dean noticed this, and his expression immediately contorted into one of curiosity.

"What?" he asked, brow furrowed.

Sam nodded his head innocently, but the green-eyed hunter wasn't buying it.

The cogwheels started to turn in Dean's mind when his mouth formed an 'o' shape and his brow shot up with realization.

He felt idiotic for not seeing past his brother's facade much sooner when the answer to his query was right in front of him.

"You don't think I can go through with this mission." He said, more of a statement than a question. Sam remained quiet, and Dean decided to only prod him more.

"Is this because of what happened with Joey the other day?" he pried with crossed arms.

"Dean, I'm just trying to make sure you're on the right track—" Sam finally spoke up, but Dean was quick to fire back.

"Right track?" he roared with a look as though it was the stupidest thing he had heard- and to him it was.

He knew he was a bit off the rail- that the mark was making him that way,- but he had control.

He was strong.

"So- so, what now, huh? You think I-I'm crazy or something? That I can't handle a simple interrogation?" He rambled in a flustered manner- he wasn't mad, not at all, but Sam's whole idea baffled him. It was just one incident.

"No, Dean it's not that—" Sam tried to explain. Dean cut him off.

"Then what is it?" he demanded and Sam bit his lip.

The elder Winchester rolled his shoulders and tightened his arms around his torso, ready to spit fire in defense but Sam cut him short.

"Dean," He said "what happened with Joey wasn't exactly normal."

"Please, Sam, nothing is normal for us." Dean scoffed.

Sam rolled his eyes at his brother's stubbornness. "I know, but this is a new level abnormal; even for us."

"I have control."

"Do you?"

"Yes." Dean said with a stern tone, and there was a thick silence.

The brother's stood there in the tiny bathroom of their apartment, staring intently at one another, and soon Sam was starting to realize what started as a light-hearted warning of a conversation was taking a turn for the worst.

If he were to talk to Dean about this at all, he would do it later- when he was ready. Not now.

"Okay." said the younger Winchester with a shrug.

Dean's brow creased at his brother's declaration and he waited for him to go on.

"If you think you're fine, then—"He began, and then shrugged once more. Dean only remained staring at him skeptically.

"—you're fine." Sam completed with a tight lipped smile he was pretty sure Dean could tell was forced.

But the elder Winchester wasn't going to think much of that; he too didn't want what had started out as casual morning banter between the two brothers to morph into something ugly. The day had only just begun.

Dean inhaled sharply and nodded.

"I am." He said, and then Sam nodded.

"Good." He replied simply before leaving.

Dean shook himself, and continued to trim his beard into two inch stubble providing just enough contrast to his face for the rest of the morning.

Sam was patiently waiting for Dean to step out of the bathroom and head out of the apartment. He was sat at the counter, a marble isle separating the dining area and the kitchen, tapping his foot and sipping on his black coffee he had just ground for him and his brother.

He wasn't going out with Dean today- research was his forte for the day while Dean and Castiel strutted around town searching for any clues, something to get them further than they were in the case.

They were grateful with the mass process they had made the previous night though- the entire week was resourceful. That's what Sam was telling himself—and Dean –now. Count your blessings, he would mutter to himself, half asleep with his nose in a book.

Today, the trio was to dive deeper into the rabbit hole with their scheduled meeting at Caleb's. Dean was assigned Lynn's case for the evening, Cas mingling with local wildlife in attempt to gain some information, and Sam was to speak to Gaby, something he had assigned himself to out of his best interests.

Sam would never admit it to Dean out of fear of constant prodding by the elder Winchester, but he had Gaby in his sights.

He wouldn't go as far as to say he had feelings for her, no, but he was drawn to her like a moth to a flame. She held some sort of poise that, from the night they met, the younger Winchester seemed to become accustomed to.

It seemed like eons had past since he had last been with a woman, taken the hustle and bustle that came with the job, but Sam was but a man. He had needs, desires, passions he kept only to himself and never voiced out simply because there was no one to do so with. Dean was always there- but the younger Winchester just preferred to keep topics like this, something he was sensitive about given his history with loves like Jess, to himself.

But still, a furling inclination towards Gaby burned its way in the younger Winchester's chest. And he was willing to at least try to pursue this one.

Past desires had gone by un-attended to by the hazel eyed hunter- a redheaded waitress in Iowa looking for a one night stand, the curvy maid who came by to clean their motel room in Michigan, Sam would even go as far as listing Lynn as a target when he first saw her. He was never one to lust after women, he held too much respect for them, but with all the madness of their lives in the past years and his involuntary pledge to celibacy, it was getting harder to ignore that he did indeed need some companionship. Not one of a friend, or an elder brother, but someone romantically invested.

Maybe Gaby would be his someone- maybe not, who knew. But it was worth a try.

And as soon as the bathroom door cracked ajar and out stepped a stubbly green-eyed Winchester, shimmying on his black trench coat and bolting out the door, Sam propped himself out of his seat and made for the bathroom.

_He needed to pretty himself up for tonight._

* * *

_The sun was beaming down onto the warm concrete of the sidewalk. People hastily whizzed past the dark haired man leaning his shoulder against one of the street lamp posts, a lit cigarette balancing between his smirking lips._

_He stood with his bulky hands rested in his pocket, ebony black hair tousled and falling lightly over his eyes, framing his chiseled face. His eyes were unsettled, flickering from corner to corner to the faces of people who passed him by. A few had stopped to ask him if he was okay—this never took him by surprise._

_ From an observant eye, he probably looked marooned, lost even as he stood with his shoulder pressed up against the lamp post. He'd merely reply with a flash of gum, kindly chuckle and nod his head._

_Other people who passed the stranger however, frowned and eyed him wearily, mothers cradling their children close to them away from the hazy man eyeing them with his jaw slack and smiling. He'd occasionally puff a cloud of smoke out from between his teeth and run through the same routine- a smile, a nod and a bid goodbye._

_Mixed expressions passed him by as he stood opposite Caleb's bar, watching customers and employees file in and out repeatedly like ants. He was waiting to see her; it had been so long since their last encounter, and while he had dropped in to pay her a visit once or twice before, none of the times was she ever aware of his presence. He'd merely sit in one of the leather booths tended to by anyone other than her, his jaw slack, an expression almost identical to the one he wore now as he watched her fondly. Her hair was shorter since he last saw her—it was no longer a sleek curtain of black, but now waves breaching slightly past her shoulders._

_He twitched his fingers in his pocket and retrieved a pack of cigarettes, taking his current one from between his pale chapped lips and tossing it onto the pavement. _

_He unpacked one thin cylinder, tucking it between his forefinger and index and placed it in his mouth. He inhaled once; drawing in the scent of rolled up tobacco at the back of his tongue, and then blew it back out, setting the unlit tip of the cylinder a blaze in orange and red._

_He plucked it from between his lips, and puffed out another cloud of smoke, intently watching the door of the bar swing open as she strutted in._

* * *

Lynn's boots clicked against the tilling of the floor as she sauntered her way up to the bar, Brady following suit with his hands in his pocket, and a guitar case strapped to his back.

She skittered her grey eyes from corner to corner in search of Joey. The pair had come by to take part in the rehearsal the company had scheduled.

Joey's uncle had a stick jammed up his ass and liked things to flow straight, never missing a tick. The evening was planned out beforehand, and now the only thing he instructed was for 'the help', as he called the staff, to 'get their shit together'.

She and Brady were part of that plan.

She glanced around the room; tables were being set in foreign fashion to their usual chic but simple look. Waiters fluttered from all ends of the room, lacing the tables with miniature lanterns and ornaments of sorts. One large buffet table ran along the wall, dishes and crockery already set in place as well as fine wines and cheeses.

The entire place was a buzz, the only difference being the lack of customers.

Lynn groaned and leaned over the bar on her forearms. "Where is he?"

Brady piped up from aside her. "Your boyfriend?" he asked, and she turned to smack his arm.

"Shut up," she said and turned back to scavenge the room for Joey, "He's not my boyfriend."

Brady just chuckled and went back to humming arctic monkeys as Lynn craned and twisted her neck looking for Joey. Finally, she spotted him coming out from the back.

He was busy chewing the rag with a dark-haired girl, one Lynn could only assume was a co-worker of his, most likely exchanging business talk. She was dressed like an employee, maroon polo tightly hugging her figure, black skinny pants and the strings of a charcoal apron seen round the small of her back.

Lynn made a face, bitter and bland, and shot her arm in the air. _"Joey!"_

At the sound of her voice, the brunette poked his head out from behind the girl and saw Lynn standing on her toes and rapidly waving her hand in attempt of gaining his attention. She scowled at him, and he quickly ambled to her.

* * *

_**Hey guys! here you go, another update which i hope you enjoy very much. i know I enjoyed writing it.**_

_**I was gonna write the party into this chapter, but I felt like I needed to leave you guys with a cliffhanger (I know, I'm an asshole lol) but I promise you, Lynn and Dean interaction in the next chapter... and pretty big one at that ;)**_

_**I've also been meaning to ask you guys; what do you think of the pacing of this story? Is it moving too slow, or just fine? I feel like it's moving a bit slowly, but I really don't want to rush things and want to explain the story as well as I can, so on the other hand I'm telling myself it's okay.**_

_**But what matters is what you guys think. How's the pacing, what should I change if at all there is anything? Please let me know, it means so much if you review.**_

_**As always, thank you so much for following and favoriting this story, and just for all the support. I love you guys, and I'm always looking to make new friends so hit me up and lets talk :)))**_


	13. Chapter 13

Sam and Dean sat at the bar, pints of whiskey in each of their hands and their eyes scavenging the room for Lynn.

The elder Winchester brought the glass up to his lips, slurping up the drink before placing his glass back onto the hard wood of the counter. He turned to Sam.

"Quite a party ain't it?" he asked, still flickering his eyes over the crowds of guest filing in through the door and those mingling in the large center of the room.

Sam turned to his brother and then back. "Yeah." He laughed breathlessly, "How long's it been since we were at one of these?"

"And 'not' working a case? Never, I think. This must be a first." Dean replied, chuckling and shaking his head. Sam snorted at his brother's words, bringing his very own glass up to his chapped pink lips.

He drew out a long and heavy sip, squinting and puckering his lips as he took the glass away from his mouth, and the thick liquid burned its way down his throat.

He shook himself, and leaned back against the bar. "You must be excited."

"You kidding? I got all pretty just for this." said Dean, gesturing at the fine black fabric of his suit. Beneath it was a crisply ironed white shirt, ordained with a black silk tie strung around the elder Winchester's neck. His hair was spiked in the front of his head, golden locks shining in the ambience of the lounge, and the light spill of whiskey on his lips made them shine even pinker than they were.

Sam chuckled. "You do look spiffy."

"Thank you, Samuel." smiled the elder Winchester, watching a girl with a blonde pixie cut from across the room step through the doorway.

He turned to Sam, and looked him up and down, almost scrutinizing him. He was wearing an almost identical outfit to Dean's only no coat was draped over his robust form; he wore a plain white shirt and a black skinny tie with the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows. His mahogany colored hair was slicked back and tucked behind his ears and in contrast to Dean's his jaw was lined with longer stubble.

"You don't like half bad yourself." Dean smiled proudly as Sam clicked his teeth and shook his head.

"That's all you have to say—I spent ages getting ready."

"Okay, pipe down, princess, you look gorgeous." He rolled his eyes and patted his brother on the shoulder.

The younger Winchester chuckled into the rim of his drink, and then paused for a minute before turning to his brother, fully this time.

He extended his glass. "To fat cats like us." He said with a smirk.

Dean made a face, a sort of smile and shut his eyes, almost like he was saying, I hear ya, and brought his glass up as well.

"Fat cats." He said with a simper as both Winchester clinked their glasses together and then downed what little was left of their drinks.

Both brothers leaned their backs against the bar once again, Dean raising one elbow onto it, and Sam keeping his hands in his lap.

Dean's eyes were following the movements of the blonde pixie cut, watching as she fetched herself a glass of red wine. She was with a tall burly man with a brown undercut. Dean had thought of getting one of those at one point, deciding against it when he thought it would l0ok juvenile, and now he thanked the heavens for that decision.

"So what exactly are you gonna say to that Lynn girl?" asked Sam over the music blaring throughout the room.

Dean turned to him.

"What?"

"Lynn," Sam repeated, this time widening his eyes as if that would give Dean a clue of what he was saying, "The girl from last week—freckles."

"She didn't have freckles, she was just really pale."

"Pale and had freckles. What are you gonna say to her?"

Dean shrugged and creased his brow. "Basic protocol, ask a few questions."

"Protocol being?" pried Sam, following his brother's eyes to across the room. Undercut was fetching them both some wine. He turned to Dean and cocked a brow at him.

"She's got a date, Dean." He stated as the blonde-ahired hunter's gaze remained fixed on the pixitcut girl.

"Do you think I can move in on it ju—"

"Dude, no." said Sam with a look of disgust. Dean glanced over at him and rolled his eyes as he sipped on his whiskey. It was pungent, making him feel like he had juist been socked in the nose, but Dean would be lying if he said wasn't up for four more glasses in just the next hour.

Sam did the same. "You've got to respect that. What are you gonna do with Lynn?"

Dean looked over at Sam with his brow furrowed. "Lynn?"

"Pale and freckles, Dean, can you focus, please?" said Sam, slightly agitated that his brother was handling the case so heedlessly. He didn't want a repeat of what happened with Joey going down, at least not tonight on such a crucial mission.

Dean rolled his eyes, knowing just what was going through his baby brother's mind.

"I will talk to her, Sammy, don't worry." he waved him off with another sip of his liquor," Relax—you should be focusing on your end of the bargain as well. Have you spoken to Joey about Gaby?"

"She's coming in tonight—he said by seven she'll be here."

"It's seven twenty two. You want to go talk to him?" asked Dean as he lightly drummed his fingers against the cool glass of his drink, eyes no longer set on the pixie cut girl but now his brother, who was nodding his head.

"Okay." Sam said.

He gulped down his whiskey with a disgusted face, and then placed the glass back onto the bar.

He stood up onto his long legs, adjusting his shirt and then walking away. He glanced back at Dean about three feet away and the green-eyed hunter shot him a quick tight lipped smile.

* * *

Lynn was pacing back and forth when Brady returned to the dressing room, also known as Joey's office littered with stray garments of clothing, assorted make up products on the floor, and a panic attack in the midst of unraveling in the middle of the room

She had been wearing nothing but a skirt and her stockings up to her knees, her hair in a messy bun as she tried to steady her breathing. Her eyes had shot to the door once she heard the lick on the lock, only to find Brady staring at her with a look of confusion.

He was still standing in the doorway.

He flicked his wrist to the side. "What is happening to you?"

Lynn's eyes widened. "What?"

"You're—"Brady tried to look for the words to describe the scene playing out at the moment, but was in vain. He didn't even know what was happening; let alone how to explain his not knowing.

Lynn pulled a perturbed expression, throwing her hands up and letting them fall back to her sides. "I've been waiting for you."

"Why?" he asked a bit scared as she strutted to him. She stopped, about two feet away from Brady, and bit her lip. She remained silent for a minute, laying her fingers against her stomach until she couldn't take it anymore.

"Am I crazy for feeling like I shouldn't go out there?" she blurted out.

Brady's eyes widened.

"What?"

"I mean," Lynn began, turning away and facing her back to him, "I don't want to go out there. I came in earlier and saw who my audience is and it's…too much, too many. For a starter show, that's a pretty huge audience, don't you think?"

"What are you saying?"Brady knitted his brow in confusion.

It was one of those situations where all she needed was a third party to help her decide; she was always indecisive, it was a flaw o hers that she had pointed out by her mother as a child numerous times.

She had her heart set in each domain, and could care less which side Brady picked, only needed that one bit of affirmation; she didn't trust herself to decide on this, she needed someone to do it for her.

She chose Brady.

She widened her eyes at him, urging him to speak.

Brady just exhaled heavily. "Uhm.."

He let his hand slip from his hair and into the pocket of his coat. He looked down at his shoes, then up at Lynn as he sighed.

"No cold feet now, Lynn. You're doing this."

"But—"

"No but's, okay?" he said, approaching her. The show was about to start in a matter of a few minutes, and he just needed her to get dressed now.

He placed his hands on her shoulders. "You're doing this, okay? And you are going to blow everyone away."

"You think so?" she smiled sadly and Brady nodded.

"No doubt. Now, please get your clothes on." He smiled and Lynn sighed in satisfaction, She had her confirmation now.

She looked up at him apologetically.

"I'm sorry," she looked back down at her aqua painted toe nails. "This is a first—I'm not one to usually get cold feet." She admitted shyly as Brady laughed.

"Yeah, I know you. You're too assertive for this kind of thing."

"Am I?"

He nodded. "You are."

Lynn smiled wide this time, feeling her anxiety dissipate and be replaced by an excitement, eagerness to get up on stage now.

_She left to get dressed._

* * *

Sam and Dean had their glasses refilled as the lights in the room dimmed and the music once blaring through the speakers was cut dead silent.

Joey had introduced the next act as a good friend of his, an old one whom he had known for years now. Both Winchesters were in their original positions, backs to the bar and whiskey in their hands as Joey stood in the middle of the large area, mic in hand and attention all on him.

He spoke, and then signaled the crowd's applause with his queue for the night's performance to start, something everyone seemed a bit eager to have happening. Dean wasn't exclusive of that group—he knew exactly who it was even before she marched onto the stage, nervous tight lipped smile twisted into her mouth.

Dean gazed at her from behind his honey colored drink.

She was wearing a tight charcoal turtleneck and a maroon skirt reaching her thighs. Her legs were adorned with white stockings breaching right above her knees, ones Dean remembered the girls in school wearing, and her feet were dressed in boots. Dean had to squint—he felt like a massive stalker realizing that they were the same pair of combat boots he had seen her in the other day he had his run in with Joey.

Suddenly feeling a bit uncomfortable, skeptical that outsiders could hear his inner thoughts and how creep he sounded, he sipped on his whiskey.

He glanced over at Sam, perfect timing leading them to meet each other's gazes right away. He gave him an odd look, one reading 'I don't know what's going to happen next', and the younger Winchester only chuckled, shaking his head as he tapped his brother on the shoulder. Relax.

The room went on with their mingling, a few people stopping what they were doing to get a proper view of her performance. She wrapped her fingers around the cool metal of the mic-stand, cleared her throat and introduced herself.

Dean felt odd hearing it—he already knew who she was.

She turned to her guitarist, the brown-haired man Dean never realized he actually recognized as the brunette flashed her an assuring smile, and then she started to sing.

It was a good thing it was dark, not pitch black, but dim enough to hide the enjoyment in Dean's face as she begun to sing.

_Lana Del rey._

He wasn't a fan, but the way she made her music sound, how her matte red lips barely grazed the microphone, how she swayed her hips to the music, her eyes shut in concentration. Dean wasn't a fan of Lana Del rey but he was now a fan of her, bobbing his head from side to side as she sung.

* * *

Sam had his fingers drumming against his frosty glass, his lips turned down in exaggerated approval as he bobbed his head from side to side. Everyone was doing this, the performance was astounding—Dean was no exception.

The younger Winchester could tell how big of a jackass his elder brother felt; sitting there, enjoying the voice of the same girl he had the urge to strangle only a while back—he could feel his shame, and felt just as bad finding it all amusing.

He tried to suppress a smile as he brought his whiskey back up to his mouth, still thrumming his fingers against the glass. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Dean…

It was a good thing it was dark, not pitch black, but dim enough to hide the dark-haired stranger's face as he stood smiling devilishly at the stage.

* * *

_She had changed so much since he had last seen her, even more beautiful, a full grown woman now, no longer the child he had left her._

_He glanced over his shoulder at the bar, looking past the two men that sat oddly close to one another as he searched for the bartender. He turned back and looked at the empty glass in his hand, and then back up at her._

_Saul could wait._

* * *

There was a boy, a beautiful boy, speaking to Lynn, and smiling, a great smile that made her go weak in the knees.

The show had just finished, and among her adoring fans patting her on the back and nodding their approval her way, Lynn stumbled upon him at the bar.

His bright blue eyes reeled her in, his onyx black hair curled atop his head. He had a freshly shaven face, his chin quite sharp and chiseled and all Lynn could think of when she saw his face was sitting on his lap.

"I'm sorry, what?" she asked, not having heard what he had just said. Brady was standing at her side, watching in secret amusement as the man chuckled at her almost nervously.

"I said, uhm, my phone's dead can borrow yours, but.." he gleamed, chalky teeth peering out from behind his lips, "I guess I have to admit that was just a way of me trying to sneak my number into your phone."

Lynn's breath hitched in her tight throat and she could hear Brady trying to stifle his excitement. She scrutinized the stranger with her grey eyes, running them up and down his slender but well built form. He was dressed in a black button down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and dark denim jean tucked into combat boots. He was astounding, and Lynn was taken by surprise that he was even speaking to her.

The gentleman was still gazing into her eyes, his fluid blue hues staring into Lynn's soul.

H extended his hand. "I'm Levi."

Lynn's internal organs were grinding each other into pulp in the pit of her stomach as she stuttered her words.

"Uhm, listen I—"Lynn tried to speak, the next words to slip from her lips be those of rejection, but Brady cut her off.

She felt him snake an arm around her shoulder and squeeze her firmly against his solid form, causing her to hiccup in surprise.

"This is Lynn," he smiled as she looked up at him bitterly, only then realizing his full intentions. She writhed against his grip.

"Brady, stop—" he cut her off once more with another squeeze, making Lynn feel as though she was in the grip of a constrictor crushing her bones. She tried to wiggle out of his old, but it was no use as it was set firmly holding her to him.

Brady ignored his friend's objections. "She'd love to give you her num—"

"Brady—"

"Her number." Squeeze. Lynn winced and tried to contain how badly she wanted to punch Brady in the nose as Levi stood there, watching with his smile half hanging off his face.

"Uhm, I…" he tried to speak, but then Lynn suddenly managed to pry herself away from Brady's firm grasp.

She slipped away from him, stumbling on her booted feet and catching herself on the bar.

Both sets of eyes watched her as she cursed.

"What are you, a fucking python?" she coughed, "You're killing my lungs."

Brady turned to Levi, still grinning.

"She's a nerd." He shrugged in an amused manner and Levi let a light chuckle slip past his lips.

Lynn was bent over clutching at the caps of her knees, eyeing Brady venomously before she stood upright. She let her eyes leave her grinning friend and fall onto Levi.

"I'm sorry, I have a boyfriend…" she tried as Brady scoffed in the back

"No she doesn't, she's lying."

"Brady," she warned, ready to spit fire at her friend, but Levi cut them both short, speaking up from beneath all the chaos.

"It's fine," he said, still smiling, "I get it, you're not interested."

Brady grinned wider and slapped Lynn on the back. "Oh, yes she is." He said as Lyn growled at him.

"Brady." She fumed, and ignored him; instead placing her attention on Levi whom she was surprised was still standing there after all the embarrassment her friend had caused her.

She flashed him a kind smile, trying to put him down easy.

"I'm not, sorry." She said, tucking her hair behind her ears and then started to walk off, leaving Brady behind.

He called after her once, causing her to only flip him off and continue, and he sighed.

He was only in his best intentions, and it was only then that Brady realized that maybe he had taken it a bit over board, a first for him taken how often he and Lynn had suck run ins.

He looked at Levi and shrugged apologetically. "Sorry, man." He said before dashing after Lynn.

The blue-eyed gentleman craned his neck to watch as the two disappeared down the hall. He sighed to himself, and sat down at the bar, ordering a before two men approached him.

He looked up from the brink of his bottle and to them.

"Can I help you?" he asked, and the shorter of the man spoke up.

"Was that girl you were talking to just now Lynn Deren?" he asked, and Levi nodded.

"Uhm yeah," he said with uncertainty, "The performer for tonight, and her guitarist, Brody I think."

* * *

Brady chased after Lynn as she headed for the restroom, a scowl evident on her face. HE called after her, worming through the congestion of drunks and potheads blocking him, but she didn't respond. She didn't even look back.

Brady sighed, shaking his head as he jogged faster.

They had reached the lounge, the bathroom only a turn and some feet away when Lynn felt a strong grip on her shoulder. She was whirled around, her curly hair whipping around as she faced Brady.

He was offering her his puppy dog eyes, coffee-colored eyes staring into Lynn's.

She scowled even harder.

"What do you want?" she spat, squinting and then crossing her arms over her chest. Brady let his hand slide from her shoulder.

"I'm sorry." He said, and Lynn scoffed and rolled her eyes. She rolled them so hard because she couldn't believe she was going to forgive him so easy. She was hesitant to—very, but she did.

She felt like a jackass.

"Whatever," she mumbled and Brady lit up like a candle, pulling her in for a hug that no matter how much Lynn tried to strain against, she succumbed to.

"But that guy was so cute." He whined into her hair playfully as Lynn chuckled.

"Then you go get his number—I'm pretty sure he's still at the bar," she teased with a smile, wrapping her arms around Brady's neck.

Lynn tried to ignore the way her smile faltered. It was nothing.

She pulled away from the hug, and quickly pasted it back on.

"Please, like he's interested in a beast like me." Brady fake pouted.

"Aww, c'mon," she shook her head, grabbing his chin and squishing his cheeks, "You're adorable."

He swatted her hands away.

"I am, aren't I?"

Lynn rolled her eyes.

"Very—now," she flipped her hair over her shoulder, "let's get back out there. I need a drink."

"Same." Brady replied as they walked back out of the lounge.

Brady had been called over by Joey a few minutes into waiting for the bartender to come their way. Lynn was left sitting down in the leather stools alone and calling over Gaby, ready to order when suddenly a gruff voice spoke from behind Lynn.

_"Great show."_

She froze, still leaning over the barrier as she felt her heart stop beating in its tracks.

She didn't even turn around, instead letting her expression contort from a smile into a horrified look of realization.

She remained silent.

Dean continued.

"You've got some strong pipes," he said pulling the chair to Lynn's left out and plopping down in it.

Lynn turned her head to him, slowly.

He smiled, crow's feet appearing at the corners of his eyes.

She was still glaring at Dean like he was a lion ready to pounce as she sat back in her chair.

The silence got uncomfortable for Dean, and he was just about to speak when Lynn cut him off.

"What are you doing here?" she spat, not viscous enough to wipe that stupid smirk off the green-eyed hunter's face.

"I told you," he shrugged nonchalantly, "I came to see you perform. You're a magnificent singer, Ms. Deren."

"Yeah, I bet," Lynn bit back with her eyes squinted. Dean just nodded and smiled once again.

"Why are you really here?" she asked.

He ignored her, turning away from her and to face the bar instead.

"You must be tired after your show," he said, "let me buy you a drink."

He lifted his hand, about to call for the bartender when Lynn jeered at him.

"I don't want your stupid alcohol." She spat venomously, making Dean drop his hand in his lap and turn to her, smirk gone for now.

She cocked a brow. "What, are you gonna lace it with amphetamines or something?"

"Not this early in the night, no."

"Huh, what a charmer you are, agent."

Dean squinted at Lynn slightly before extending his hand.

She looked at it with disgust, then back at him.

"The name's Dean." He offered.

"I don't care."

"You don't?" he laughed, "Why? I'm buying you your drink"

The green-eyed man turned back to the bar, this time successfully calling over the bartender who was neither Gaby nor Joey, and ordered tow cokes and a whiskey.

All the while, Lynn was watching him skeptically from the side.

Half of her brain was telling her to run for the hills, reminding what this guy had almost done with Joey and the entire fact that he and his partner reeked of trouble ever since they came into town. But another equally as impacting half of her told Lynn that she was in a safe place. That he wouldn't hurt her, and bolting out on him not only would look suspicious, but rude.

_Yes, Lynn was considering how she could hurt his feelings._

Because at the moment, he wasn't barking at her, or holding a firearm out. He was ordering her a drink and smiling, and being surprisingly charming.

Lynn didn't know whether it was the rush from stage or her stupidity, but she adjusted her sitting, keeping her legs under the bar and let Dean buy her a drink.

_She gave him a chance._

_And she didn't know why._

Lynn was brought out of her daze when the bartender, a lanky man with shaggy brown hair, brought them their drinks.

Dean slid her hers and took his. He raised his glass up for a toast, grinning like a Cheshire cat as Lynn stared at him skeptically. She waited a while and then clinked her glass to his, taking a long sip afterwards.

Lynn was busy making a face and scrunching up her nose as the liquor traveled down her throat when the sandy-haired man spoke up.

"The name's Dean, by the way." She raised her brows.

_"Dean Miller?"_

"It takes some time getting used to."

"I bet you do," She muttered under her breath, looking down into her glass as she swished her drink around.

Dean heard her, loud and clear, but chose to ignore her remark, instead pushing the conversation on with lighter topics.

"I meant it when I said you have an amazing voice earlier."He said glancing to his right. His arms were half crossed over the counter.

Lynn nodded and tried her best to stay as calm and collected as possible; it was just a drink, with a regular person.

"Thank you," she said, "it's actually nice getting some feedback after such a big show."

"Big?" Dean furrowed his brow.

"Well for a starter show, you usually play in dark alley pubs where majority of your audience—"

She sipped on her drink once more, grimacing slightly.

"—is drunk. And even then, they don't like your act." She finished as she turned to the elder Winchester who had an incredulous expression on his face.

Lynn had to laugh lightly.

"What?" She asked, and dean shook his head.

"You have had some rough shows, huh?"

"Rough is sugarcoating it but, let's go with that, yeah."

Dean allowed himself to chuckle, shaking his head from side to side as Lynn joined in.

"Well did you at least enjoy this one?" he asked. Lynn took some time to think.

"I did," she finally answered, "I've never done a Lana song before; I thought I would give it a try."

Dean nodded, bringing his drink back to his pink pouty lips and Lynn squinted at him.

"What, not a fan?"

"Of her, no; of you—"he said and looked back at her.

He smiled lightly, almost a smirk. "—definitely."

Lynn felt a pink hue creep up her ears and onto her cheeks and quickly reached for her glass to hide her face behind.

She muttered a quiet 'oh' as she brought the drink to her burgundy lips. Dean chuckled, his smile growing into a lazy lopsided grin.

"So, do you always perform here?"He asked now looking at her.

"I don't—this was my first gig, Joey just hooked me up." She replied as Dean nodded.

"But you are a regular here?"

Lynn creased her brow, a bit confused as to where the conversation was straying, but nonetheless answered.

"I am."

Dean sipped on his whiskey, only a few dollops remaining at the bottoms of his glass as he placed it back on the counter. "So why be nervous about it? You must know most of the people here, right?"

Lynn remained quiet, glancing at him from the corner of her eye and nodded.

"I guess." She drew out hesitantly, suddenly feeling uneasy. She felt anxiety begin to boil in her stomach—she didn't know why, but she had a feeling her senses were right to be weary. The atmosphere had changed; Dean's smile had faded away, no replaced by a stoic expression he kept focused on the rim of his glass as he swirled the remnants around, and he was no longer speaking.

What was going on?

An uncomfortable silence filled the air as Lynn chugged her whiskey, feeling her nerves blaze. She couldn't be sure what was happening next, but for some reason she felt an impending doom, a danger, and better safe than sorry.

She needed to leave.

"Okay, well,.." she pushed herself out of her seat, standing and picking her bag from the stool, "Thank you for the drink, Agent."

She slung onto her shoulder, holding onto the strap with her right hand as she nodded nervously. Dean turned to her and smiled tightly.

"Of course." He said, gazing at her with piercing green eyes. If Lynn weren't so on edge, she would mistake his intimidating stare for undressing her with his eyes.

She forced a simper.

"Goodnight." She said as she was about to walk away, her hand still holding firmly onto the leather strap of her satchel when she heard Dean speak up.

_"Ms. Deren, before you leave—"_

* * *

If Sam were here, he'd be scolding Dean Sore because his attention was purely frayed as he ordered up two cokes and a whiskey. He had been sent up to the bar no more than a few minutes before by his younger brother when the two spotted Lynn sitting down at the bar, solely for the purpose of interrogating her, but not setting her fuses ablaze. Dean was proud he avoided the latter, but more ashamed that he did the same with the interrogation.

He had no idea what happened; his brain was fried as soon as he sat down to speak with Lynn. The hair on the back of his neck had been up since her performance had come to an end, knowing that only a few seconds later he was to go talk to her—she absolutely hated him. He was crass and nothing but sour towards the ebony-haired girl, downright repugnant, and yet he was expected to go up to her and act benign towards Lynn.

_Dean couldn't do that._

And it wasn't even because he was spiteful towards her, or bitter, or held any account of hate, no. He couldn't even show his face up at that bar because of how ashamed he was for what he did. He had a lot of time to think about what he did the days leading up to tonight, and indeed he had a change of heart. He just wanted to brush it all under the rug; the question was Lynn willing to do the same.

Dean doubted it, and so he felt safer switching his and Sam's cases but the younger Winchester was fixed on his word. Dean was forced up to Lynn.

And that's when things got much harder.

She started out venomous like a snake, and Dean had admitted he deserved that, and he thought he could deal with that which settled his nerves. He was fine for as long as it lasted, thinking he would just continue with the pair snarling back at each other—snark was the elder Winchester's special. But he couldn't for Lynn had chosen to bury the hatchet, and actually engaged in conversation.

Dean got distracted and instead of focusing on getting info out of her, he strayed and paid attention to anything other than the case. That was until he realized this.

His mention of Lana Del rey triggered Dean's awareness; he wasn't doing his job. He shut down the small talk, downed his whiskey, and was ready to get to the real stuff.

But it seemed he had waited too long, for as soon as he turned to Lynn, ready to draw information out of her, she was up and she was getting her things ready to leave.

_Dean cursed himself, and began to panic._

* * *

Lynn was about to leave when Dean felt himself spring to his feet eagerly.

"Ms. Deren, before you leave—," he blurted out, causing her to turn back to Dean, and him to swallow then clear his throat awkwardly.

She looked at him with an expression that took Dean by surprise—that he couldn't define; worry, curiosity…fear?

Was Lynn afraid of Dean? Did she know why he was here?

Questions rampantly flowed through the elder Winchester's mind but he tried to cut them off for now. He focused on the grey-eyed girl in front of him.

He shifted on his feet, standing up straight. "I have a few questions for you."

Lynn's eyes grew wide.

"Questions?"

Dean tried to play it cool; he had no idea why he was even nervous despite it not really showing now. But he was oblivious.

"Yes," he said in a firm tone "just a few—basic protocol."

Lynn tried to not blow her top in spite of the defensiveness—and panic—growling in her chest.

She tried to put on her best tough look, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I'm sorry, agent Miller, but I have to go."

The elder Winchester nodded. "I know, Ms. Deren, but it's just a few basic questions about Derin Peterson, nothing too serious."

Lynn felt her heart palpitate, memories of the last incident surrounding this topic flashing through her mind. She didn't need this, not now at least.

"No, I told you the last time; I don't know anything about him." Lynn replied, a more angry and aggressive expression marring her face now.

She sighed through her nose.

"Goodnight, Agent."

Dean pulled his eyebrows together and tilted his head back subtly—he wasn't expecting that, a bitter tone to a simple question and quite frankly he didn't appreciate it. His nerves were already bundled up into a knot as it was; this was the last thing he needed.

Lynn was mid walk when Dean took two long strides towards her and grabbed her by the arm, not too brutal but firm enough to cause her to whip around and glare at him.

Her grey eyes were staring to burn with anger, Dean could see that, but he didn't care.

"Ms., this is a federal investigation," he said as he loosened his grip a bit, "and you're a suspect. You're going to have to comply."

Lynn scoffed and yanked her arm away.

"I don't have to do anything if I'm innocent." She spat.

"Well how can I be sure you are?" Dean replied angrily and Lynn snorted.

"Because you can take my word for it."

"Word of mouth doesn't sit with the authorities, Ms. Deren."

"Luring people in under false pretense doesn't sit with them either."

Dean pulled an incredulous face. "I didn't lure you in un—"

"Coke and whiskey, jackass." Lynn growled, "And—and now after trying to get me drunk, you're trying to pry information."

Dean noticed something in her voice, something that sounded like a mix of spite and…hurt?

Was she hurt by what he had done? He hadn't even hurt her.

He pushed these thoughts away and tried to focus on his job. It was bigger than the both of them.

"I wasn't trying to get you drunk."

"Oh yeah, sure you weren't—"Lynn squinted her eyes at him accusingly. Dean rolled his eyes and threw up his hands.

"That's the perfect plan, isn't it? Get a gal drunk and then get her t-to spill all her secrets about some freak death you, for some reason, think she has anything to do with."

She grimaced and shook her head.

"You feds are disgusting."

Dean chuckled sardonically.

"Oh, so now you're Sherlock, huh sweetheart?" he jeered as Lynn rolled her eyes and huffed.

"I bought you a drink because somebody had to." He sassed, and once more a glint of hurt appeared in Lynn's grey eyes. Dean noticed it, for the millisecond it was there, before it was replaced by more snark.

"It didn't have to be you."

"So why'd you accept it?"

Lynn shrugged.

"Free booze; sue me."

"You're coming with me." Dean fumed as he took a step closer and Lynn took one back.

"Like hell I am," she scoffed "I'm not coming anywhere near you—you're insane."

"And you're psychotic."

"Oh, bite me."

"I think I'll do much worse; c'mon." Dean muttered as he closed the space between the two of them, grabbing onto Lynn's arm and dragging her away.

He had enough of this, this nonsense. He hadn't come to this party to make friends or amends with Lynn he realized that. He was here to get drunk and do his job and only one of those things had fallen through tonight.

* * *

Lynn writhed and struggled against the elder Winchester's grip, cursing at him and trying to create a scene, but the bar was crowded and loud. The lights had remained dim even after her performance, and all Lynn could see was Dean himself, dragging her through the mass of sweaty bodies.

She began to panic—the last she had been in such a gruesome situation, so frightened about what this mad man was about to do with her was with Greg and his porcelain dolls, and on the streets.

The disgusting, carnal, dangerous streets that Lynn had nearly gotten killed on; that was something she couldn't forget.

His grime covered hands wrapped around her neck; cutting off her oxygen supply and making her go blue in the face.

The memory was still raw in Lynn's racing mind, and as the elder Winchester hauled her through the bar and to God-knows where, Lynn felt tears begin to prick at her eyes and her heart thud rapidly.

She was not only viciously angry now, but paranoid, mortified that this so called 'agent' was going to end her the way he nearly did with Joey all because she agreed to drink his stupid liquor. She shouldn't have sat down—she should have bolted out of the room as soon as she saw his piercing green eyes approaching her.

Now, here she was, most likely being dragged to her death, her vision blurred by the water trickling from her eyes as she struggled and strained against Dean's grip.

In all these years, this was the first time Lynn was genuinely scared for her life.

_When she was genuinely mortified._

* * *

_He stood with his back pressed firmly against the black surface of the wall, his lit cigarette hanging from his hand and his eyes roaming around the room._

_He was watching the movements of drunken customers swaying back and forth to the beat of the thumping music; their skin was draped in sweat, a few pairs of eyes dark with lust as they groped one another, and the air reeked of what Saul could only identify as…energy._

_Untapped energy just waiting, yearning, to be harvested by him. He had to refrain, soothe his insatiable desire to do so. That wasn't why he was here._

_She was why he was here—he had come to see her after all these years._

_And at the moment, she was at the bar downing her liquor like a sailor while talking to a blonde man in a suit._

_Saul recognized him from earlier, his partner nowhere to be seen. He had thought of going up to talk to her a few times, thinking he'd surprise her and talk to her, know her and what she's been up to, but she looked contented talking to the green-eyed stranger, flashing her chalky white teeth in occasional smiles._

_He brought the ashy stick up to his lips, drawing in some smoke and then puffing it out._

_He exhaled, and leaned further against the wall when a few minutes later, he spotted her, getting up from her seat with her satchel in hand. She was leaving, and Saul thought that maybe he could sneak in light conversation before she was gone, already putting out his light and on his feet moving towards her when he stopped._

_He saw it all._

_A firm grip onto the arm of her grey turtleneck, carnal green eyes; danger. She was in danger, and Saul watched with his eyes squinted, brow furrowed and mouth ajar slightly, looking on as she was yanked deeper into the crowd._

_He started to walk._

* * *

Dean felt guilty no doubt about what he was doing, but what other choice had he when dealing with a non-compliant witch of a woman?

They were almost out of the bar ,the entrance a mere few feet away as Dean's eyes skittered around the room to look for curious eyes when he begun to feel a scalding hot burn against the palm of his hand.

The elder Winchester immediately jerked his hand away from it's place on Lynn's seething wrist, wincing as she stumbled back, falling flat on the ground.

She looked up through watery eyes at Dean who was shaking his hand as though there was something stuck on it, and then at her arm where her sleeve was rolled up.

_She had never seen anything like it and her heart skipped a beat once she saw it._

Her wrist, the numerals tattooed on it, was glowing like the tip of a lit cigarette, orange and red hues encrusted in the letters.

Lynn had no time to waste looking at her arm now as she heard a nearby "son of a bitch", making her look up at Dean and quickly scrambling to her feet.

_She needed to get away._

Dean noticed this and his eyes went wide, watching as Lynn tried to scurry away when all of a sudden his green embers landed on a dark figure approaching. They were smiling slyly, malevolently even as they sauntered towards the door.

It was clothed in all black, their hair matching their outfit, and from what Dean could see, their eyes, piercing pale blue, were focused on Lynn. He knew this wasn't a good sign.

He glanced down at Lynn who was barely making her way through the crowd, branching to the right and then back up at the stranger. His eyes had followed her.

Dean clenched his jaw.

_He began to walk._

* * *

Lynn was fuming terrible as she clutched at her wrist, tears in her eyes and staggered through the strobe light lit room. Her face was contorted into one of pure fury, almost all of it directed towards Dean who she had the undeniable urge to kill, and the rest to the burning in her wrist.

She was breathing heavily, trying her best to stay upright as she waded through the masses of people dancing, when she felt it cool down.

Lynn glanced down at her skin, watching the fiery color die down a bit when she felt someone grip onto her shoulder blade and yank her up.

She squealed, but the music drowned it out.

"We need to go." Dean growled in her ear, and Lynn turned around to him, her eyes burning even more at the sight of his green eyes.

She brought her hand up and collided her fist with his cheek, causing him to topple back and release her from his hold.

Lynn grimaced at him distastefully, spitting his way before she dashed off further into the crowd.

Dean was hunched over, bringing his hand from his lip and staring at the crimson blood covering it.

He huffed, and quickly chased after Lynn.

Dean was quickly strutting through the crowd, pushing a few people aside when he felt his phone go off in his pocket. He took it out and glanced down at the screen. Sam.

He didn't have time to answer his brother, cancelling the call and placing his cell back in his coat pocket. He stared ahead intently as Lynn glanced over her shoulder back at him.

Their eyes locked, grey on green, both filled with rage and fire towards the other, and the dark haired-girl shook her head as she turned back and this time ran.

_Dean groaned and increased his speed._

* * *

_He had almost gotten to her, only a few feet marking their distance, and for a second, Saul could swear she was running into his arms. They had locked eyes; grey and blue, Lynn looking up at him like a wounded deer as he smiled at her, about to reach out to her when out of the blue she made turn._

_She was on the run, and Saul wasn't sure whether she hadn't come to him for asylum because she knew who—what—he was, or simply because she didn't feel the need to._

_Saul thought maybe she did know who he was; maybe she knew he was the reason her wrist was burning up like a flame._

* * *

Lynn had managed to get out of the lounge and was staggering her way to the back exit.

The pain in her wrist had dissipated, for now at least, and all she could think of now was calling someone for help. She had tried Joey's cell, but it went to voicemail, making her resort to calling Brady.

She had the phone to her ear as she quickly walked through the kitchen, trying to not look to suspicious.

It was ringing, making Lynn sigh in relief when suddenly someone picked up.

"Hello?" she heard Brady answer over the line.

"B-Brady?"

"Lynn?"

"Where are you?" she asked, nodding at a few confused looking chefs in attempt to blend in.

"I-I'm at the party, with Joey, we'r—where are you?" he asked, voice dripping with confusion.

Suddenly there was a crash, a dish falling to the ground and a shriek of fright.

Lynn shot around to see what was happening.

She saw Dean, entering the kitchen with his gun raised high as he scanned the room for her.

She felt her stomach lurch, quickly ducking behind one of the counters as she fumbled with her phone.

"Brady, you need to come get me, fast." She spoke in hush rushed tone.

"What? Lynn, what's going on? Where ar—"

She glanced over the top of the counter, watching as the chefs' squealed and put their hands up to Dean.

She ducked back down.

"Just, hurry. Now!" she said as another crash was heard followed by the sound of Dean's voice. He was trying to calm the innocents down, promising not to hurt them.

"Have you seen a girl with black hair pass through here? The performer from tonight?" he asked as one of the ladies spoke up and Lynn felt like she was about to pass out.

She screwed her eyes shut, trying to stay as put as she could until he left when the pain in her wrist began to gnaw. She shot her eyes open and winced when a surge of pain shot through her.

"Shit!" she cursed, and immediately regretted it when she realized what she had done.

Everyone by the door stopped their chatter. Dean's mouth fell agape slightly as he listened intently.

Lynn was perched by the counter, pushing herself further into it. She threw a hand over her mouth, listening for any sound when she heard the thumping of boots approaching. Her stomach lurched.

Dean turned around. He walked out of the room, peering across the hallway only to spot the stranger from earlier, a lazy lopsided grin tickling the corners of his lips.

He nodded at Dean.

_"Hey, stranger..."_

* * *

**TADAAA! Holy shit this was a mouthful, but it was SO FUN to write and I hope you guys enjoy it :)) I'm already even working on 14.**

**Don't forget to favorite, follow and review (I'd really love to hear what you guys think of the story)**

**Have a nice week.**


	14. Chapter 14

Lynn was practically shaking; she hadn't been in a situation like this in years, and had no idea what she was to do next.

One of the chefs came over to the counter quickly, kneeling down.

She jumped when she saw him.

"It's okay," he whispered, glancing up at the door then back at Lynn, "He's gone—for now. Go. Now."

Lynn nodded. She didn't have much time to weigh whether or not this was the truth or she was being fooled.

She scrambled onto her feet and as fast as she could, dashed out from under the counter and towards the door.

The pain in her wrist was back, taunting her, setting her skin on fire. She was almost at the door, only a few feet away when she heard someone call her name.

_"Lynn!"_

* * *

Dean had his finger barely grazing the metal of the trigger, as he stared down his opponent; a young man,27 or so, clad in a black trench coat and a suit almost identical to Dean's beneath it. His black hair was spiked, and the stubble on his jaw provided a perfect contrast to his pale blue eyes.

Dean clenched his jaw as the stranger smiled.

He gestured at the door with one finger. "Is she in there?"

Dean narrowed his eyes at him.

"Who?" he growled and Saul just laughed; brief, precise as he clapped his hands together.

"You know who," he spoke in a velvety tone, "the girl."

"What's it to you?" Dean spat, trying to tame his itchy finger; he was hoping, praying, the mark wouldn't take control unless needed. Drastically.

The blue-eyed man smirked and pulled his eyebrows together.

"That's quite a tone you've got there my friend," he stated, causing a smug smile to grow on Dean's face.

"I get it from my dad. He was quite the man."

He shrugged, winking, as Saul just stood there, nodding and squinting at Dean with an engrossed look. It was almost as though he was studying him, examining every little aspect of him, and for a second it made a chill run up the elder Winchester's spine before he brushed it off.

Saul's mouth twitched up into a smirk.

"I bet he was, " he whispered, eyes still narrowed. Dean eyed him skeptically and the dark-haired man only smiled even more wickedly.

"That was, before he died, right?"

Dean's smug expression contorted into one of confusion. Saul bowed his head and chuckled.

"Your dad was quite the man, indeed, Dean." He smiled.

Dean swallowed.

Saul looked up at him. He smirked, and started to approach him.

"The great, John Winchester," he teased with his chalky white teeth.

He was coming closer to Dean who now let the pad of his finger rest on the trigger. He held his breath.

Saul stopped a few inches away from the green eyed hunter, the fraction of air between them soaking in tension, as he grinned lazily.

"His death was such a shame, wasn't it, Dean?"

The elder Winchester ground his teeth together, trying to resist the urge to pull the trigger on the man in front of him.

He had no idea who was, and yet he yearned to put a bullet through his head, both for protection and to get him to stop talking, each word to come from his mouth was bitterer than the previous.

Dean resisted the urge, allowing the charlatan to go on.

"Your father was so, so strong" Saul smiled, but it quickly turned to a frown as he tilted his head to the side.

"If only you followed in his footsteps with that."

Dean growled.

"Who the hell are you?"

Saul placed his hand on Dean's shoulder as he grinned maliciously.

"A friend of a friend." He said, and before Dean knew it, his entire upper arm was blanketed by the burning heat from earlier, this time more intense as it spread throughout his arm.

He winced in pain, dropping his gun to the floor.

Sal laughed to himself.

"Stupid boy." He muttered as the elder Winchester hissed and groaned.

No sooner had Dean dropped his weapon when he felt a hand grab his chin and squeeze it firmly, lifting him off the ground.

The dark haired man was smiling wildly, both sets of his pearly white teeth exposed as he laughed manically. Dean was afraid; this man was crazy, psychotic, even for him. What he was to do to him next was unknown until Dean felt his body being flung across the hallway.

He hit the wall with a loud crash.

Saul stood by the kitchen entrance, and now he was in the middle of a fit of laughter, clasping at his knees and shaking his head.

He straightened himself out, glaring at Dean who lay like a broken doll on the ground.

"Oh, Mr. Winchester," He taunted, "a gun is for a battle, not a war."

Dean groaned, stirring in place as the stranger scoffed.

"Now now, don't be dramatic. That's nothing compared to what I'm about to do to you—if you can't handle just that, well then,…" he tsked, folding the corners of his mouth.

Dean looked up at him from beneath his lashes, the warm over his upper arm gone, but now replaced by new, different, warmth as he looked down at his forearm. He watched as the mark bulged from his skin with a red tint.

The elder Winchester propped himself up on his elbow, hissing slightly as the mark fueled his actions.

_It started._

It's viscous demand for blood, for brutality and manslaughter to be unleashed upon the blue-eyed stranger—dean felt no guilt, no remorse. He had this coming, he deserved it, whoever—what, ever he was, and the elder Winchester wasn't about to spill tears for him.

He pushed himself up onto one foot, staggering slightly, and then the other.

Saul stood from across the hall watching him.

"Please," he chuckled, "You think that little tribal tattoo on your arm is going to save you?"

Dean's eyes were on the ground as he spoke.

"It doesn't have to."

In the blink of an eye, the green-eyed hunter hurled himself at the dark-haired man and tackled him to the ground. Saul hit the floor with an oomph as Dean heavily swung his fist, clashing it with the jaw of his victim.

He felt adrenaline pump through the pipes of his veins as he snuck in another jab, this time knocking Saul in the eye.

The two rolled around on the tiled floor as Dean was flipped onto his back, Saul wiggling out from beneath him.

The elder Winchester was standing up when he felt a knee collide with his nose, causing him to topple back.

Blood trickled down to Dean's lip, slipping into his mouth and filling it with the taste of metal. He mewled in pain as Saul laughed breathlessly, ready to kick the green-eyed hunter in the gut when he was swept off the ground by Dean's leg.

He fell flat on his back.

Dean pushed himself up as the burning of the mark strengthened, more profound, more demanding—cuts and bruises wouldn't do.

_It needed blood._

Dean's green eyes shot to his gun sat by the entrance of the kitchen.

He was about to dash for it until Saul wrapped his thick fingers around the hunter's ankle and then yanked him to the ground.

Dean fell, nearly cracking his teeth as his chin collided with the floor.

The blue-eyed man hauled himself up.

He looked down at Dean; his eyes were no longer gleaming with malevolent delight—they were burning hot, rage fuelling the fire behind them.

"You fight dirty, Mr. Winchester." He said breathlessly. He curled the corner of his mouth up into a smirk.

"But I fight dirtier." Said Saul before his eyes lit up.

He begun to chant, a language Dean could recognize as Latin even in his broken state.

He wasn't going to go down easy.

Dean shot up like a poll and grabbed onto the collar of Saul's shirt. He thrashed his fist into his skull, sending his head backwards before it jerked back like a jack in the box.

Saul caught onto the elder Winchester's forearm, trying to pry him away. No such luck as he stared into Dean's gaze, and for the first time in the night, Saul was actually scared.

The hunter's eyes were dark, the whites of his eyes almost engulfed by black—saul had never seen this before and he was grateful even for that. Dean's jaw was tense like a brick, chiseled and solid, the vein at the corner of his forehead was pulsating as well as those on his pinking neck.

_The mark had taken over._

He dropped Saul to the floor and stepped on his abdomen repeatedly, trying to crush whatever organs he could into a gooey pulp. The soul of his shoe stained the man's white shirt as he hacked up blood, the corners of his mouth adorned with streams of red.

And then,_ Saul started to laugh._

It was a disturbing sound, squelching noises mixing with the sound of his chuckles, fluids erupting from his mouth.

Tears fell from his eyes as he screwed them shut, and the harder Dean stomped, the louder the laughter got.

It echoed down the halls as Dean lifted Saul up once again by his collar, and threw him at the wall. He himself was terrified by the scene—he had no idea what was happening, but that was all masked by the mark's desire to kill, to see more blood spurt from its victim.

Saul hacked up more blood when he hit the wall, his laughter now subsiding and leaving him jerking his shoulders up. He tilted his head back and looked at Dean.

He had strode over and picked up his gun.

It was now in his hand, feeling like a slim fitting glove as the hunter wrapped his calloused fingers around it and then tapped the trigger.

He raised his arm, and shutting one eye, aimed for Saul's chest.

His heart.

He was smiling at Dean as he bubbled with giggles.

"Mr. Winchester," he said through crimson tainted teeth, "what a show you've put on."

"_Shut up_" Dean glowered with eyes squinted into mucky green slits.

Saul bit his lip and tilted his head aside.

Once again he examined Dean.

"Did your father teach you this?" he teased.

Dean chuckled.

"I can't wait to kill you, you son of a bitch." He shook his head, and Saul coughed, then laughed.

He leaned his head back against the shattered wall.

"So do it."

"Not until you tell me what I need to know."

"Which is?"

Dean lowered his gun, keeping it close to his side.

He jerked his chin at Saul.

"Who are you and what do you want?"

"I told you already," he replied "I'm a friend of a friend. Very close one at that."

"Well I've got a lot of friends."

"Do you though?"

Dean pulled the gun back up.

"Okay, okay."

Saul raised his hands up in defeat. Dean lowered it.

"Well?" he pressed.

"Well what?"

"Who the hell are yo—"

"I can't tell you who I am, Dean. I'm sorry." Replied the blue-eyed man. Dean was this close to shooting him in the skull.

"Why not?" he asked and Saul shrugged.

His patience was wearing thin, if at all he had any left, He had no time to argue with a goon trying to play god; Dean had to get to Lynn.

_He sighed and lifted his arm back up._

_He shot Saul straight in the chest, the bang of the gun echoing throughout the building._

* * *

_"Lynn!_" Dean called.

Lynn turned around, meeting his gaze and taking in how he looked. His face was bruised, the bridge of his nose cut, and his sandy brown hair was disheveled. His black tie hung loosely around his neck, the knot most likely coming undone, and there was something staining his shirt.

_Blood._

She quickly turned and made for the door but before she could reach it, she felt Dean grab onto her wrist, burning her all the more with the contact.

Lynn flinched and then fell back, Dean grabbing her in his burly arms. As soon as she realized this, she fought against him.

"Let me go!" she shouted, looking over the blonde-haired chef from earlier on; they were all huddled by the door, cowering to do anything in fear of getting shot by the rabid man with a gun.

"Dean!" she whined.

Dean huffed. "Can you relax?"

Lynn wouldn't comply—she was stirring and fussing, trying to run away from Dean, but each time she did get out he'd only reel her back in.

She was waiting for what he was to do next, knowing while he wouldn't have any permanent danger to her taken her deal; he was going to hurt her. Lynn couldn't handle that, she couldn't handle torture—she'd rather be killed fast.

But none of that was on Dean's mind, and Lynn was more than surprised with what he did.

"_Move_." He instructed as he strung her along and out the back door.

* * *

"Let me go, you asshole!" Lynn screeched as Dean held her by both her wrists, dragging her across the road and into some alley.

Her heart was beating out of her chest, and the former relief she had when he didn't put a bullet through her head and led her out the building dissipated when she realized he probably wanted to do it in a more private place.

"Would you stop squirming?" Dean scolded, leading her over to a car parked along the road. She was seating and wouldn't keep her mouth shut.

"Not until you let me go!" She shouted. Dean rolled his eyes.

They reach baby, and Dean dug in his coat pockets for his keys. He found them and quickly opened the locks, leading Lynn to the backseat where he pried the door open. He thought of going to the trunk, just to scare her even more with the arsenal he had packed in there, but the backseat would do.

He glanced at her, still holding her wrists.

"Get in." he jerked his head to the side.

Lynn scoffed.

"Go fuck yourself." She spat.

"Hard way it is," Dean muttered. He yanked on Lynn's arms, causing her to yelp in pain and shoved her in. She fell face first on the leather seat.

Dean had let go of her wrists but before she could even sit up, he shut the door and locked it.

The dark-haired girl quickly sat up, glaring at Dean from the other side of the glass.

He smirked.

"You asshole." She cursed, glaring at him bitterly. Dean only flashed her a cheeky smile before disappearing to the trunk of the car.

Lynn leaned against the window, her palm pressed flat against the glass as her eyes followed him.

He propped it open, eyes searching the bounties of weapons and gun powder before landing on what he was looking for. He sighed in relief and reached for them, shutting the trunk and returning to Lynn.

She was still up against the glass, her curses and profanities muffled by the glass. Dean ignored her as he headed for the driver's seat and unlocked it.

She watched in confusion as pried open the door and rolled down Lynn's window before shutting it again.

He bent down to eye level.

"Hands, please." He instructed, raising up the pair of cuffs in his left hand.

Lynn's eyes went wide and she knitted her brow at Dean like he was insane.

"What are you, some fucking BDSM freak?" she asked with a disgusted face.

Dean mirrored her.

"What?"

She remained staring at him, and it took a minute or so before he cringe, shutting his eyes and vigorously shaking his head.

"No, ew, I—j-just put these on if you wanna get out. "He shuddered as Lynn looked at him, grey eyes huge with confusion.

He was still disgusted and she wasn't convinced he wasn't a perv.

Dean groaned.

"It's just to make sure you don't try anything funny."

"I try anything funny?"

"Will you just put them on?" he snapped, flustered and agitated by all the questions.

Lynn thought about it—the last time she had trusted her instincts and the same man, she nearly got killed, she wasn't even sure she wasn't going to get killed, but she had no other choice. After all, either way she would be in a rut, she decided to put her trust in the universe.

She hesitantly stretched her hand up to the window and Dean sighed.

"Okay," he mumbled as he cuffed her, and then opened the door for her.

Lynn stepped out, her hands bound together just slightly below her markings.

She looked down at her wrist to see if it was alright; it was no longer glowing, the numerals in their usually bold black print, but the skin around them was still laced with bruises and cuts, fresh ones.

Lynn sighed the looked up at Dean who had his phone in his hand.

His fingers were gliding along the screen, dialing someone up. He glanced up at her.

"What?"He asked.

Lynn glared at him sourly.

"What now? Are you gonna let me keep my heels on?"She sassed, making the elder Winchester roll his eyes.

"I don't have time for this."

"You mean for the person you've taken as hostage?"

"You're not my hostage." Dean mumble, eyes locked on his phone as he rang for Sam.

Lynn snorted. "I bet you say that to all the girls."

"Do you ever shut up?"

"Do you have a safe word?"

Dean rolled his green-eyes so hard it almost hurt, and Lynn felt her pride swell at how much she could get on his nerves. He owed her this at least—being the victim of her bitter tongue after all the hell he had, and was going to, put her through

"I'm making a call." He announced, walking away with the phone to his ear.

* * *

_His body lay limp against the shambles of the concrete wall, cold and bluing and with a gaping hole in his chest, crimson stains running from it and staining his white shirt._

_He had been laying there for ten minutes when the paramedics arrived; securing the area with bumble-bee colored police tape as they waltz over to inspect Saul's body._

_One of the men, graying hair, brown eyes, was slipping on his gloves as the flashes of cameras glared onto Saul's face._

_They didn't know he was breathing._

* * *

Sam was more than relieved to hear his brother's voice when he called him.

After the incident at the bar which Dean later declared to be part of, the younger Winchester went through hell trying to look for his brother. He had scavenged the entire building, asking around to see if anyone saw Dean, but never got any further than that until he had felt the buzzing of his phone in his pocket and picked it up to answer.

It was Dean calling in to report that he had gotten out and with the privilege of dragging Lynn along with him. She had apparently put up quite the fight, flinging curse words here and there and occasionally a few fists, but the elder Winchester managed to tame her. Now, Sam was to head back to their apartment to meet with the pair as well as Castiel.

He was standing right outside Caleb's in the midst of cop cars and an ambulance, blue and red lights tinting his face as he scowered the scene for a means of escape.

He had no business here anymore; he had gotten done with Gaby and Joey, and there was no need to look out for Lynn now that he knew she was with Dean heading home. The younger Winchester was more than grateful for that, relieved that at least tonight was a success, on his end at least. Dean hadn't shared the details of his evening, rushing his words through their call, but from what Sam could gather, it wasn't good—far from it really.

He turned to his left and spotted a black Vitz parked across the road, stagnant and with no witnesses around it. The younger Winchester looked to his left then to his right before quickly strutting over to the car, trying to look as discrete as possible.

Sam reached the vehicle and once again looking to either side of the road, scouting out any by-standers, took a deep breath and then thrust his fist into the glass of the window.

He didn't get it done now only feeling a sharp pang of pain shoot through his wrist. He winced, shaking his hand in the air and looking around.

He decided to try again.

He adjusted himself, standing up straight and then once again smashing his fist into the glass causing it to shatter into little pieces.

The younger Winchester sighed in relief, shutting his eyes and then getting back to reaching his arm into the car and unlocking it from the inside.

The lock popped open with a click and Sam quickly hurried to get into the car, shuffling past the shards of glass littering the road.

He slammed the door shut before sighing to himself as he examined the car. Sam's eyes flew from the steering wheel to the gear-box, to the terminals and then back to the wheel and past it. The circuits.

He bent down, popping open the little plastic box and then careful taking apart the wires within it.

In five minutes, having popped his head up a few times to scower the perimeter, Sam managed to get the car up and running.

The engine grumbled to life, and the younger Winchester reversed out onto the road before speeding straight ahead.

* * *

Dean pocketed his phone and began to make his way back to the car having just gotten off the phone with Sam. He had explained everything, or at ;east most of what happened and promised to dive into detail back at the house. He was grateful the messy part of the day had been sorted slightly, even though the entire evening itself was a cluster off crazy, but Dean tried to look on the positive. Now all he needed to do was deliver Lynn to Sam and Cas as they requested.

The green-eyed hunter returned to Lynn, finding her scowling with her brow twisted as she held her arm. She was inspecting it, grimacing in what Dean could only assume being disgust as she run her thumb over her skin. Her wrist.

Dean's eyes widened when he saw what she was doing—_what she was touching._

"Son of a bitch," he muttered mostly to himself, but Lynn heard him approaching and jumped. She quickly jerked her arm away, hiding them both behind her back.

Dean quickly scrambled to her.

"What the hell is this?" he asked as he curled his fingers around Lynn's upper arm, yanking it out from her back.

Lynn resisted, squirming to stop him.

"It's nothing," she persisted as she fought against Dean's arm.

He slid his fingers to her forearm and pulled it out.

His breath hitched when he saw it. Scars. Bruises. Cuts. The numerals on Lynn's wrist were tainted with injuries, and Dean was surprised he hadn't noticed this earlier.

"You're hurt." He said more of a statement than a question.

Lynn sighed and bowed her head.

"It's nothing." She shook. Dean scoffed.

"Of course it is, why the hell didn't you say anything?" he looked up at Lynn, brow creased and pink lips parted.

Lynn's grey eyes met his green ones as she tried to think of a response.

She didn't know how to explain this to Dean—she herself had no idea what this was, let alone how to voice it out to a foreign party.

She shrugged.

"I didn't think it was important."

"Important?" Dean repeated, "You look like your wrist was passed through a meat grinder, what the hell is wrong with you?"

Lynn glowered at Dean, pulling her hand back to her but failing. He smirked at her. She scowled even harder.

"I've been through worse. "she gave up, wiping some hair from her eyes instead.

"I pity you." He stated with his emerald eyes wide.

"I don't need you to. I'm fine." She sassed, causing him to snort.

"I didn't ask for your permission to, smart ass. Now stay here." The elder Winchester said before letting Lynn's arm drop to her side and returning to the passenger seat of the car, leaving her to pull back down the sleeve of her sweater.

Lynn sighed and then leaned back against the hood of the car, listening as Dean rummaged through the glove compartment for God-knows what.

He returned with some whiskey and a bandage.

Lynn swallowed.

Dean opened the backseat door, jerking his chin. "Sit." He said simply. Lynn complied, hesitantly but still shuffling and crouching down so she could sit on the edge of the seat with her legs dangling out.

Dean crouched down to eye level then took her hand.

Lynn winced internally as he inspected her wrist, turning her arm from side to side before sighing.

She looked at him through her lashes.

"What?"

"How'd this happen?" he asked, looking up to meet Lynn's gaze and she froze.

She didn't know what to say, and so he just shrugged.

"I told you I don't know," she replied simply averting her gaze to the floor. Dean watched her, and fro that simple gesture he could tell she was lying. He let it slide. He wasn't one to press on her seeing as if she didn't want to talk about it, she had reason.

He merely nodded, before reaching for the cotton, slipping some whiskey onto it and dabbing it on her skin.

Lynn hissed.

_"Fuck."_

Dean looked up at her again, his brows pulled together in a bitter scowl.

"Suck it up." He grumbled. Lynn narrowed her eyes into seething slits as she tried to swallow the burn licking up her nerves.

Dean pulled the cloth away, poured some whiskey onto it and returned it about an inch further up from where it last was.

Lynn's reaction was the same. She flinched. It went on like that for the next ten minutes as the elder Winchester nursed her wound in silence, not bothering even once to make conversation and instead making it awkward. She knew it wasn't her place to get the talk flowing seeing as she was a captive. She was too frightened; one word from her bitter tongue and that would be the end of her.

She remained quiet, pacing her mangled up nerves until Dean finished up on her injury. He reached for the nearby bandage and begun wrapping it around her wrist, pulling the knot extra tight at the end and making Lynn wince.

She jerked her arm back, holding it close to her chest and caressing the newly bandaged area. She grimaced at Dean, and he raised his eyebrows.

"Wow, not even a thank you?" he said defensively as Lynn remained quietly biting her tongue, eyes raking up and down over his figure.

The elder Winchester rolled his eyes before gathering all the tattered used bandages and tossing them in the nearby trashcan infested with rats. He then continued to the front of the car and wrapping his chilled fingers around the handle of the door, yanked it open and climbed in.

He got out his keys as the sound of Lynn's door slamming shut sounded in the back. It was boisterous enough to give Dean the hint that she was angry, but the green-eyed hunter could've cared less. He didn't have time for a hissy fit.

Instead, he stuck the keys into the ignition and the car rumbled to life.

* * *

Dean rolled his eyes for the hundredth time that day, hearing Lynn once again belt out a cuss word directed at him from the comfort of the backseat.

She had been doing that for the past half hour, making the Elder Winchester regret even dragging her out of the building as she went on and on about his unfairness towards her. She was currently in the middle of one of her many heated rants of the day.

Dean huffed, glancing in the rear view mirror to spot Lynn staring daggers at him through the grey slits in her face.

He sighed.

"What?

"Were you even listening to anything I just said?" she snapped. Dean rolled his eyes.

"Not even once." He replied nonchalantly, keeping his gaze fixed on the straight road ahead of them.

Lynn huffed, crossing her arms over her chest as she leaned back in her seat, eyes still fixed on Dean as he drove. She squinted at him as she tilted her head to the side.

"What exactly do you plan on doing with me now?" she asked.

Dean shrugged, glancing at her through the mirror.

"I don't know. Probably keep you as my slave for as long as I can." He forced a smile.

"Don't play games," Lynn replied, "Where are you taking me? I'm serious. I've spent the past hour or so with you and snark is kind of getting old now. I just want answers."

Dean chuckled sardonically.

_Answers._

At least they had that in common; searching for answers to all these insane questions flying through their minds. Dean's was particularly busy—he didn't even know what to do besides get home to Sam and Cas and deal with it all after that. It being the entire evening…the madness he had been put through, one thing in particular sticking out of the entire pot of crazy. Dean couldn't get it to budge, no matter how bad he tried.

He glanced down at his arm propped up on the wheel, staring at the mark.

It was just there, bulging, taunting him about how it had gotten the best of him tonight.

Dean tried to tell himself that at least this time it was necessary—the other guy was an attacker, a villain set out on killing the elder Winchester. And while that did provide some sort of consolation, Dean still wasn't satisfied. He knew he had done the right thing, he had no doubt in that, but still; he was on edge about the mark. He didn't know why.

He looked up at Lynn's grey eyes. They were still focused intently on his.

He exhaled.

"To be completely honest…" Dean shook his head, "I have no idea what we're gonna do with you either—not yet at least. But we'll know soon."

He looked up from the road into the mirror. Lynn was still looking at him, her mouth subtly pursed and her brow knitted at the slightest.

He nodded with evident dread.

_"I hope."_

* * *

**Here, you guys go, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I had to rewrite it a few times as wells as the next two chapters so updating might be slightly delayed, but thank you as always for your support. I love you guys.**

**Don't forget to review, follow and favorite.**


	15. Chapter 15

The sky was a mucky navy dotted with white specks of late and fog as Dean pulled up to the sidewalk right outside their little apartment he and Sam were temporarily staying at. Dean would never consider himself a mother-duck kind of guy obsessed with interior decor and such, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't miss the bunker's undeniable comfort on account of the rat hole they were currently staying in. It wasn't that bad, but maybe it was just the used to comfort side of Dean speaking.

He killed the car's engine, slipping out the keys and palming them in his fists as he sighed. He looked up at Lynn's sleeping form splayed across the backseat. She had fallen asleep halfway through the ride home despite Caleb's not being too far from Sam and Dean's apartment.

He turned in his seat, stretching to tap Lynn on the leg in attempt to shake her awake.

"Hey, wake up," he said softly, rocking her knee back and forth.

The entire evening had left her on edge, no surprise, and usually when she fell asleep with her nerves bundled up into a ball, she'd find them the same when she woke up. She was surprised she wasn't used to it by now, all the crazy. Lynn thought that maybe constantly having her skin seared off of her wrist would make her prone to such things, neutral towards them even, but that thought never fell through.

She'd wake up the same. Nervous, confused. A wreck. Lynn was grateful these occurrences were once in a blue moon; otherwise she was sure she'd be insane now, at least more than she already was.

She pushed herself up from the sticky leather seat clinging to her skin and sat up straight, rubbing her groggy eyes. Dean spoke up from the front seat.

"You okay there, freckles?" he asked, voice firm but with a tinge of fear.

Lynn to him, a few strands of black shielding her eyes.

She sighed.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm uh—"she shook her head as she sat up, "I'm fine."

"You don't look like it." Dean remarked, causing Lynn to shoot him one of her glares on mild level.

She rolled her eyes. "I'm fine."

Dean put his hands up in defense.

"Okay then." He said as he cracked open the car door and set his foot down on the pavement.

He straightened himself out, adjusting his ramshackle suit he knew very well was going out in the trash today, and bent down to peep into the car.

"You coming?" he asked Lynn.

She was hesitant; the hell she had just been put through with this psycho was enough of an alibi to get Lynn to not get out of the car, but then again she had no other choice. She could always get out and then take to her heels to the nearest police station, but something was stopping her. She didn't know what, or why, but for some unknown reason she couldn't. Now the only prominent part of her brain was that telling her to go with dean.

So she did.

She could already predict how she'd regret this, but that didn't stop Lynn from shuffling closer to the car door, the skin of her thighs chafing against the leather as she gestured for Dean to open it with a jerk of her chin.

He stretched his arm to the door and opened it with a pop, watching as the dark-haired girl shimmied her way out and onto the pavement. She adjusted her skirt with her cuffed hands, then looked up at Dean, inhaling deeply.

* * *

Lynn was surprised when she saw the long-haired man from the diner leaning over the counter with his head buried in a book when she walked in. He and Dean were partners, that she knew, but she never expected him to be part of this crazy concoction. He was to normal for that. Orr at least she hoped he was.

Dean shut the door behind them as Lynn stood by his side patiently, her hands still clasped together.

The wood of the door hit the frame with a bang, and the man with long hair suddenly looked up from his book.

He widened his brown eyes, and Dean exhaled.

"Hey, Sammy." He said, tossing off his coat and keys to a nearby table already cluttered with books and crumpled paper.

He walked over to the man as he loosened his tie.

"Dean," remarked the brunette with enlarged eyes. His gaze bounced from the blonde, then to Lynn, and then back to him again.

Sam exhaled.

"What the hell happened to you? T-to her?" he stuttered the last part, flicking his hand at Lynn who was still by the door. Her teeth were lightly kneading her bottom lipped as she watched Dean make for the fridge.

He shrugged, prying open the door and looking inside.

"A lot, but that's not important. Is Cas here?"

Sam lingered at the door for a bit before he turned around.

"Cas?" he asked.

"Yes, Sam, Cas. Is he here?" said Dean not meeting his gaze.

"N-no not yet." Sam replied "he said he'd be here soon but first, what happened to you?"

He turned and nodded at Lynn.

"Both of you." He finished.

Dean got two beers out from the fridge before nudging it shut with the toe of his shoe and heading to the table centered in the room. He uncapped one and looked up at the brunette.

"Look, it's a long story but I'll tell you as soon as Cas gets here. First, we have to deal with something else." said the elder Winchester, uncapping another beer as he glanced at Lynn then back at his brother.

"You two have met; Sam, Lynn, Lynn Sam." He said and then slid the other beer across the table for Sam.

The younger Winchester nodded tightly at Lynn.

"Hi again." He said.

"Hi." She forced a smile, more than uncomfortable making pleasantries with her kidnappers. Sam turned to his brother and furrowed his brow, trying to speak hush but failing.

"Why is she cuffed?" he scolded.

Lynn crossed her arms, not as comfortably as she hoped, due to the cuffs, and watched.

Dean made a face.

"Why else, I thought she'd escape if I just let her sit there."

"Don't you think that's little extreme, Dean?"

"Do you know what hell I went through to get her? It's ensuring she stays put." Dean retorted, speaking in the same viscous tone as his brother.

"You talk like she's an animal."

"How do we know she isn't?"

"I can hear you." Lynn said mostly to herself from the comfort of the door, but it caught the ears fo both brothers as they slowly turned their heads to her.

She immediately felt her stomach drop, scared that her snark had gotten her into worse problems than she was already in.

Lynn stared at them wide-eyed, realizing what she had just said and waiting for some sort of gun to be pulled on her, but nothing of the sort happened. She relaxed when she saw Sam flash her an apologetic smile. She allowed herself to sigh in relief.

Meanwhile, Sam turned back to Dean.

"Why is she even here? I thought we agreed we ended her case at the bar?" he asked.

"It never even started," said Dean. Sam furrowed his brow further as the elder Winchester went on.

"She wouldn't go through with it so I had no other choice."

"So you cuffed her and dragged her here?" Sam said incredulously, his volume now raised to normal.

Dean threw his hands in the air.

"What else was I supposed to do? Leave her there? And besides, it wasn't safe with all the chaos happening."

Dean scowled at his brother whose eyes widened at his words.

"What chaos?"

"That's why I'm waiting for Cas," said Dean, "so I can tell you what the hell happened. God, can you just for once, Sam, not treat me with kiddy gloves? I know what I'm doing."

Dean finished, grabbing his beer and then stormed off, leaving Sam realizing what a nerve he had struck in his brother.

He turned on his heel, watching as the elder Winchester walked over to the little couch perched in the corner of the apartment. He glanced at Lynn.

She stood with her back pressed to the door, watching Dean with a wary eye as he drowned himself in alcohol.

Sam was about to say something when she beat him to it.

"Does he always drink his worries away?" she asked, eyes still on the green eyed hunter as he shot her a death glare and then turned away.

Sam hunched his shoulders with a sigh.

"Yeah, he does."

"That's sad." She remarked quietly.

Lynn wasn't afraid of speaking in front of Sam, realizing her intial reaction at first was too crass for someone like him. Someone nice.

Sam raised his eyebrows in agreement.

"Tell me about it," he muttered as he turned to his brother, "Hear that, Dean? Even your captive thinks you're insane."

The elder Winchester remained silent, bringing the brink of his beer to his lips and drawing out a long sip.

Lynn looked at her shoes, even more uncomfortable than before. "That's not why, but yeah drinkings bad too."

"Screw you." Dean spat in an almost nonchalant tone, receiving no response except a roll of the eyes from Sam.

The younger Winchester then turned to Lynn and smiled subtly.

"You must be hungry." He stated.

She looked up from the tattered toes of her boots and onto the kind face staring at her.

"Hmm?" she raised her eyebrows, not invested in what he had said at first.

He jerked his chin at her. "I said you must be hungry. You want some food?"

Lynn widened her grey eyes even more, realizing what he was saying. No matter how nice, an accomplice of her kidnapper was offering her food to fill her currently rumbling belly, and she was currently running over what decision she should make.

"Uhm," she mumbled, trying to fathom what she could say,"…no, I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" Sam asked, raising one eyebrow to look like the tick Lynn had printed on some of her favorite running shoes.

She shook her head, trying to keep her gaze on anything and anyone other than the younger Winchester.

"Yeah, " she said, "I'm fine."

Sam looked at her and from her stance and lack of eye contact could clearly tell she was more than uncomfortable with the situation—how couldn't she be really?

Some random guy handcuffs you and drags you home to his shitty apartment to ask you questions about a federal case from almost a decade back? The younger Winchester was more than disappointed with his elder brother's actions; he knew Dean just wanted to get the job done fast, but this was an extreme, an extreme they couldn't go through with.

He looked over at the green-eyed hunter whose lips were draped in liquor. Dean looked at him out of the corner of his eye, still pouting to himself as brought the bottle up to his mouth. Sam was about to say something, to snap at his elder brother and tell him he was letting the mark take over his thinking, allowing it to rationalize for him, but decided against it.

Instead, the hazel-eyed hunter returned his gaze back onto Lynn who was currently scowling at Dean. Sam's voice brought her out of her trance.

"You should really eat something—it's been a long day, I know." He said.

She snapped her head to him, thick black eyebrows shot up onto her forehead as she analyzed his expression.

He was half smiling at her, trying his very best to be as sympathetic as possible towards her, and Lynn didn't know why. She didn't know or even understand why he was trying to be ice when he had just literally nabbed her from the bar and driven her here. The thought of them killing her did cross her mind on the way to the apartment, but she had then realized that if they were planning on ending her life, they would've done it sooner. Or maybe they just wanted to fatten her up before hand. Lynn allowed herself to think.

Her instincts were telling her to not take anything from someone who just kidnapped her, but that was the thing. Sam wasn't that. He hadn't dragged her out of Caleb's and thrown her in the back of his car—that was Dean, and from the past encounters she had with the long haired man, she'd been more prone to him rather than his partner.

All the times they met before, he seemed nicer, more welcoming than Dean; now was no different. After all, she had been starving, her last meal being about an hour prior her show at the bar, and her stomach had been grumbling for the past hours. Maybe it was the hunger talking or maybe the asinine logic that led her away with Dean in the first place, but she wasn't going to neglect free food.

She sighed and then turned to face Dean, watching him burrow his way halfway through his beer, still staring at the wall in front of him before turning back to the other Winchester.

She sighed, then nodded.

"Food would be nice now." She agreed strands of black falling in front of her eyes; she wished she could swipe them away, but her restricted hands only allowed them to freely dance against her nose.

Sam's smile grew.

"I'll be right back," he said before disappearing back into the kitchen, leaving Lynn still a bit in shock that she had just accepted food from a complete stranger.

She tried to soothe her nerves with a few steady breaths, notably happy that they were no longer as vivacious as they were earlier on. Her mind had been going crazy all evening, and so it seemed understandable that now she was too tired to even have another panic attack. She looked around the room, craning her neck like an interested child as she took in its environment.

It was about the same size as hers, the only exception being the lack of décor and bland walls. Lynn's living room was painted with photo frames hung over the walls, posters and all kind of trinkets set on her tables. This apartment had barely any of that, the only accessory catching her eye being the large mahogany and glass coffee table Dean was currently resting his booted feet on.

A few shelves lined the olive-green walls, surprisingly stacked with books on at least three of the five sections, and the couches were dressed in mocha beige. A few maroon throw pillows. The place wasn't ugly or anything, far from it, but it was only that Lynn expected more from Dean. More posh. More 'My wallet is as fat as my ego'. Maybe it was just because he carried himself that way.

She was pulled from her trail of thought when she heard Sam's voice calling for her, bringing her back to reality with a jump.

She looked over into the kitchen. Sam was stood watching with his brow creased a bit.

"You okay?" he asked, and Lynn turned to her side, now finding Dean's eyes on her as well.

She shook herself.

"Yeah, fine."

Sam nodded, still looking skeptical but quickly letting it go as he spoke.

"Okay then. Your food's ready. "He ambled towards her with a plate of in his hand.

Lynn squinted at it slightly once his was in arms reach—micro waved pasta with pesto sauce and about three meatballs nestled in the centre.

She looked at it for a second, considering neglecting it last minute in fear of being drugged but then reached her hand out and took it, tightly smiling at the younger Winchester who then returned to the kitchen.

She stood there with her plate in her nimble hands, taking a moment looking around the room for a spot to sit. She decided the small table holding Dean's coat and keys to be perfect.

She walked over to it and leaned against it, awkwardly working her way around the cuffs as she ate.

Around five minutes of silence had past as Lynn was mid-chew when she heard a gruff voice speak up from aside her, causing her to look up from her plate.

"You can sit down you know. You're not a dog." Said Dean as he sauntered into the kitchen to what she could only assume was fetching another beer.

She swallowed then scoffed, licking her lips.

"I thought you saw me as animal." She said bitterly as she watched the elder Winchester maneuver around the small area. Sam had disappeared a while back to what he had claimed as his shower, leaving the pair alone.

Dean nodded, popping the fridge open.

"I do," he said simply as Lynn glowered at him, "but even animals have some piece of respect."

"In your house?"

"Sit on the floor if you want, I don't care." He said in a more rude tone as he uncapped another Guinness, bringing it up to his mouth.

Lynn watched him from the side. She watched the way he tilted his head back slightly only to bob it back as he pulled the bottle from his lips. Dean was a sloppy drinker; they were painted with some beer, a few dribbles going as far as the stubble that lined his jaw. Lynn noticed he had cut it, seeing as it seemed shorter than it did when she last saw him.

She wondered if had trimmed it for the party. She had to admit that when she saw him earlier that night, she was surprised; he was dressed like a gentleman, his hair properly spiked and vibrantly green eyes lined with thick lashes. That was one of the first things Lynn noticed about Dean along with his ego. His eyes.

She shook herself, suddenly feeling uncomfortable, nervous that someone—Dean –could read her thoughts and instead shoving another forkful of pasta into her mouth.

She just sat there for the next twenty minutes, ramming her fork into her mouth over and over as Dean did the same only with his beer, one what she estimated as his third bottle when Sam came into the room.

His hair was damp, a few chestnut strands clinging to the skin of his forehead. He was panting lightly, looking like he had just made a grand discovery as he nodded at his brother.

"Cas is gonna be here in five minutes." He said, and Lynn watched as Dean looked at his brother with a look of "and so…?".

What Lynn hadn't caught though was the younger Winchester tilting his head at her, his lips folded into a tight line. Dean's eyes widened with realization, the green hue of them almost swallowing his entire pupil as he mouthed an 'oh'. He quickly scrambled to his feet, leaving his beer on the corner of the coffee table to go to Sam.

Lynn watched in confusion, and now, frankly, fear. Anxieties begun to boil in her stomach as did questions. It was hard not to notice that something 'big', in a sense, with the two men acting considerably odd out of the blue. The dark haired girl tried to stay as still as possible, hoping to catch at least some bits of the conversation taking place in the kitchen.

* * *

Sam had his hands on his hips as he leaned over to Dean, trying to speak as quietly as possible. "What're we gonna do with her?"

Dean shrugged, wrinkling his brows.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"I mean, do you want her here while we're talking to Cas?" asked Sam, "We don't know if we're gonna use her the entire case. Maybe she doesn't need to know about things that don't concern her?"

Dean thought about what his brother was saying; Sam was right, Lynn didn't need to know every bit of the case until they at least knew for sure she was of use to them, but then again it was only Cas who could tell them that. He could ask around and see if she was the girl from the trial or if not, just plainly do some angel hoodoo on her and get to see what connection she had if at all any. He was convicted, unsure of what he was to do, but the elder Winchester knew that right now all he needed to do was make a decision seeing as their angel would drop in at any moment.

With a heavy sigh, Dean turned on his heel, leaving Sam by the fridge watching with confused as eyes he trotted towards Lynn.

She was looking at him with worried—frightened –eyes, strands of pasta still hanging from her mouth when the green-eyed hunter gruesomely grabbed her arm holding her fork up in the air, causing it to drop to the floor with a clatter.

Lynn gasped and nearly crumbled to her knees when she realized which arm exactly the elder Winchester had a hold of. Her bandage.

Her legs were barely holding her up as she allowed herself to look up at Dean who had obviously realized what he had done, because he wore face of complete embarrassment.

Lynn felt it all come back.

Waves of anxiety, fear, washing over her as Dean hardened his expression and quickly switched to hold onto her other arm. She nearly fell to the ground this time, hearing Sam call for his brother to stop, but he kept going.

"C'mon," Dean grunted casually and then yanked Lynn onto her feet, more viciously than he had hoped. She came up with a whimper.

Once on her feet, Lynn did the only thing she could've thought of doing.

She fought.

Squirming, wiggling, trying her very best to pry away from her predator as Sam quickly rushed over, but it was no use.

Dean's green eyes were stoic. He was dragging her away from the table where her plate had fallen from her hands a long time ago. The floor was draped in half eaten pasta.

"Let me go," Lynn chastised, blindly smacking the burly form of the elder Winchester.

"Dean—"Sam called from a few feet away, "—stop"

"I'm trying to help, Sammy." He grumbled.

Lynn's eyes were red. Bloodshot. And she couldn't see anything as she mindlessly jerked her arm back.

"You fucker," she cursed through tears, "you promised."

"Dean stop it!"Sam yelled but there was no effect.

They were entering the hallway now; Sam trailing behind as Dean dragged the dark-haired girl to what she could assume was her doom.

_Violation._

That's all that could run through Lynn's racing mind as she heaved ragged breaths. And she began to contrast this, this monstrosity of her kidnapping, with her life back on the streets. She had been through all this, the brutal grips, sly conniving grins as they yanked her body flush onto theirs. How dirty, disgusting, she felt. She had the bruises to prove her escape luckily before things got too bad, but that near experience, that was something that would never float out of Lynn's mind. Trauma. It was all coming back, setting her head into a fury.

She was weeping now, and sounds of Sam calling after his brother, trying to rationalize, to save her.

_They were all muffled._

All she could hear was her heart threatening to tear through her ribs.

They were halfway down the seemingly stuffy and dark strip of carpet with Lynn's feet barely holding her up, being dragged along like a doll.

"Dean!" she heard Sam's voice yell, before she felt her body being thrown onto something soft, consuming. A bed.

A tear slipped along the curve of Lynn's cheek. And then it was black.

_And she had passed out._

* * *

"What the hell man?" shouted Sam, throwing his hands into the air.

Dean was looking over Lynn's limp body, his heart suddenly beating ten tiems faster in fear that he had killed her. He was just about to leave the room when he realized that the struggling body he had been drawing through the hall had gone still. And it worried him.

His green eyes were now raking over the dark-haired girl's form. They stopped at her wrist. Dean crouched down to inspect it better.

The bandages were still in place, no bleeding seeping through them and notably no harm. He internally sighed in relief. He didn't want anyone innocent's blood on his hands when all he was trying to do was his job. He had decided it was best for Lynn to not be in the room when cas arrived, and so this was his go to plan: throwing her into his bedroom and locking her there.

Of course the elder Winchester felt a tinge of guilt as he was hauling Lynn towards his bedroom—more so because at the time he was afraid he had just damaged her most likely painful bandaging –but the job came first. This was why he was doing this all in the first place. The case. Which he needed to get to as soon as possible seeing as there was so much to spill about his night.

Sam was staring at his elder brother wide eyes the size of planets. His mouth was slightly ajar as he spoke.

"What's happening to you, Dean?" he asked solemnly, wearily.

This caught Dean's attention, and the hairs on the back of his neck began to stand. He knew where this was going, and so decided to avoid the younger Winchester's question, instead half huffing and sighing. He steadied himself back on the heels of his shoes and taking one last look at Lynn, assuring she still had a pulse, left the room.

Sam followed close behind.

Dean's jaw was square, and his green eyes were filled with an unnerving emotion—he couldn't even tell what it was. Embarrassment? Pity? Regret, maybe? This madness, paranoia that came with the mark that maybe he was morphing into something disgusting as what he hunted was a constant mental cockblock for the elder Winchester.

He couldn't think right now; he needed a beer.

He sauntered back to the coffee table where his beer calmly sat at the edge, and picked it right up, swinging it to his mouth.

Sam came in a few feet behind.

"Dean," he badgered, "Talk to me."

The elder Winchester, craned his neck around, bottle to his mouth. He shrugged.

"What do you want me to say?" he said once he pulled it away.

Sam exhaled in disbelief.

"W-what do you mean, Dean—you just locked an innocent girl in your bedroom?" he was out of breath when he finished, his chest rising and falling with distress. Dean shut his eyes and sighed, knowing he couldn't just leave his baby brother in the dark with his actions.

"I'm doing this for us," he said, looking into Sam's eyes.

They were worried and hazy.

"For us?" he repeated in an incredulous, almost comedic, tone.

"Why else would I lock in innocent girl in my room, Sam? C'mon." Dean grumbled as he plopped down onto the couch, putting his feet up and adjusting himself in silence. He sighed, and then turned to look to his left, at nothing—thin air.

He was thinking—except that he wasn't. Dean's head was as empty as his last beer bottle sitting closely by by the couch taunting him. He was too tired to scrutinize his thoughts, especially when Sam already knew exactly what they were, about the mark, them, the life. He had heard it all before.

"It's not the mark—I mean," Dean raised his shoulders and parted his lips, "—not now at least. It's just that I want us to win this case."

Sam's expression had now contorted into something calmer. He looked at his brother and licked his lips.

The younger Winchester nodded. "I know."

Dean finally turned to look at him.

"So why do you keep asking me these questions."

Sam shrugged.

"I'm just checking up on you." He sighed, "I know it's dumb, and that you have this mark under control—more than expect actually –but, it's my job to worry about you, Dean."

"It's not your job." said the elder Winchester somberly.

"Then who will? You don't. You worry about anyone other than yourself Dean—you're too selfless." Sam laughed sardonically. Dean remained quiet, not bothering to quip back and instead sipping his beer. It seemed sour now.

Sam was silent for a minute, looking down to his left to think before speaking up.

"It's okay to be selfish sometimes." Sam said, and when Dean turned to look up at him, he found him wearing a mask of guilt.

The elder Winchester knew exactly what for; for all those times he acted like the elder sibling and treated his brother like the infant, when he went out of his way to care for him rather than focusing on the case—he did that just the previous night with Gaby. He hadn't talked to her because he was too busy babysitting his elder. Sam was sorry, that part Dean knew, just as much as he knew the younger Winchester wouldn't admit it—never. No, Sam was too proud to be wrong. Too righteous in his eyes, and what annoyed Dean even more about this was that he was completely right. Sam was righteous in every way, his heart golden. What was Dean? A savage caging up one of his hostages? He forgave Sam.

"That goes for you too." He said in his 'casual Dean' voice now, the one he used when he was just conversing with Sam as his brother.

The younger Winchester looked into his gaze. "You can't just leave her in there."

Dean frowned.

"Sam,.."

"No, Dean," the younger Winchester insisted, "it's wrong—all of this."

"What part of doing our job is wrong to you?" Dean suddenly roared, noticing how his younger brother flinched at his volume and instantly feeling guilty.

"Doing our job is saving people, hunting things, and right now you're only focusing on one end of that deal." He chastised. Dean had gotten on his feet now, firmly gripping the neck of his beer in his hand.

He was about to say something in turn, about to rip Sam a new one about how he was only doing his best when there was a sudden sound of fluttering her behind Sam, cutting him short.

Both Winchesters turned to see what it was, only to be met by the sight of their angel friend, standing and looking at them with his usual no nonsense expression.

"Evening," said Castiel a nod.

Dean sighed in relief.

"Thank God, you're finally here." He said, "Took you long enough."

"I'm sorry," apologized the angel, "I was just busy finishing up some rounds at the morchery at Saint Augustine's." Cas said as he rounded the taller hunter so he could speak properly to both brothers, nodding at him officially before he returned his focus to Dean.

"I've been trying to take a look at some of the old bodies of the victims—the one's we, well, I, already had a look at— but they were already shipped to the family's for burial."

Cas shrugged his shoulders.

"The only body I could get a hold of was Mr. Peterson's. He's born and bred product of Manhattan so the family are going to pick the corpse up a few days before his burial."

"Why are they still taking so long to get him to his family? Won't the body begin to, y'know—blue? Die—completely?" Sam asked as he gestured in the air with his hands, Dean briefly glancing at him then back at the angel.

Cas, who seemed to be just as out of it as his counterpart, maybe even more factoring his running around all day, merely shrugged and sighed heavily.

"I don't know, honestly. I'm too tired to think." He said, throwing his hands up in the air and falling heavily into the twin couch just behind him, letting his head fall back. He shut his eyes and spoke.

"You two find anything yet?" he asked, neck tilted back.

Dean glanced at Sam, licking his lips, then back at Cas.

"Well, yeah, a lot. That's why we called you." Dean wrinkled his brow as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Cas breathed out once again, the air turning more humid with each frequent breath he would take, the more the merrier.

"Sam only told me that you needed to see me, ASAP. He sounded the same as he always does throughout the call, placid, and so I thought it was only something like research."

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Cas lolled his head to the side, opening his blue embers and blinking them at the elder Winchester.

"You're saying it's something more?" he asked, lightly raising his brows which were pulled together up on his crinkled forehead.

Dean rolled his eyes—why else would Cas be here, sitting on their couch, lounging and acting like he had just had the hardest day of his life when the elder Winchester was the one who had to fight off some psycho killer demon?

Dean seemed agitated. "Why do you think you're here Cas?" he asked and the angel merely stared at him as though nothing had phased him, like he had no care in the world. Maybe he didn't. He shrugged.

"To help you." He said ever so nonchalantly."What do you need?"

If Dean hadn't blown his unnecessarily bitchy fuse already, he was sure he did now. Of all times, not when Dean was cracking quality A list (by his ranking) jokes, or out at the bar with him, or just being casual, now was when Cas decided to not give two shakes about what was happening around him?

"What are you, stoned?" the elder Winchester asked almost incredulously.

"I'm tired, Dean. Sue me." His voice was raspy, rough, almost like sandpaper, and from that Dean would normally get that Cas was tired—he was out all day running around Manhattan—but right now he wanted to be hotheaded for just at least one more second. He needed some way to get his frustrations out.

Sam suddenly spoke up from the side, pulling the elder Winchester out of his thoughts.

"Cas, why don't you cool down for now while Dean and I try and sort things out—so we can at least know what to tell you." Sam offered with a smug smirk at his brother who was staring daggers at him, and the angel lazily nodded.

"Good idea." He said as he drifted into some sort of a trance, and Dean got up from his seat with his bear, walking over into the kitchen with Sam, puffed up like an overgrown child.

* * *

Lynn couldn't decipher whether she had been asleep for two hours, or two days when she woke up. Either way, she felt like absolute shit as she sat up, groaning. She was still pushing herself off the grey duvet under her when she felt a surge of pain slither through her veins, and winced, looking to her arm; the bandaging was still fixed in place, and Lynn would've rejoiced in this minor victory of the night if it weren't for the crimson hue blotting the white bandage. _Fuck._

Before even slowly peeling off the bandaging, ever so gently trying to refrain from taking her injury further, Lynn already knew what it was. She had a hunch at least. She had woken up to the same sight only a few months back, practically every night as the numerals on her wrist , Lynn thought. She thought this had all stopped ages ago—the bleeding was no longer a factor, most if not all of her nights falling through with maybe just a scrape or two, the occasional itch. _But this?_

She finished unraveling her wrist, peeling off the soaked cotton that sat on the surface of her skin only to expose the brutality of her tattoo. Lynn cringed at the sight as her nimble fingers trembled.

The numbers were smudged in red, barely visible, and there was a long gash about two inches running along Lynn's skin. It was right below the ink. Lynn was grateful for that at least—one minor cut, that was the cause of her bleeding. She'd take that over a baker's dozen of miniature lacerations. _No thank you._

She figured deal with this now. The time was unknown, and for all she knew, she could've shifted hours ago. The blood wasn't that stale, but still, Lynn cared too much about her hygiene.

She gathered the surrounding pieces of scarlet tissue, and fisted them in her hand. She had spent the past ten minutes or so calming herself, only managing to break into about two panic attacks ever since she had woken up. For Lynn, it was an achievement, her self-soothing. In the long run, it always came in handy; she would be more stable, better grounded, and firmer on her feet to kick anyone's ass and get herself out of whatever rut she was in.

She decided to first dispose of the rags in her hands before anything else.

Looking around the cage she had been closed in, she made it out to be a bedroom, with the basic ornaments of a boudoir. The only prominent question in Lynn's mind was whose. She didn't have time to think of that. A trashcan, right by the dresser, and a bathroom, or at least what she could only assume was.

Lynn hauled herself up off the bed and onto her feet before heading straight for the olive wood door. Her knees felt like jelly beneath her, the sensation identical to that which she felt as Dean dragged her to this prison cell. Lynn wondered why no-one had taken the courtesy to undress and violate her while she was asleep. After all, that's the only thing she could make of Dean's actions before she passed out—it was what made her pass out. God, she'd been wracking her brain for the past minutes asking that question, needing an answer. Why hadn't they harmed her?

But she couldn't have that—not yet at least. First, she had to clean up.

To her favor, the bathroom door wasn't locked, and so it was more than easy for Lynn to simply drop the bandages in the trashcan and then slip into the black and white tiled room. She pushed the door open, one hand rested on the cool handle and the other flat against the wood, trying to muster as much strength as possible.

The door clicked open, and Lynn stumbled through slightly, balancing herself on the nearby sink with pink tipped fingers. She gasped, looking up into the mirror in front of her, at her reflection. She stared at it for a while; her eyes were wet, red rimmed with string like veins tracing the whites, and dark blue rings adorned them, bags not excluded. Her hair was matted in the back, right by her earlobe, and her previously pungent red lips were smudged to a dull semi-nude tone. God, she looked like shit—but then again, it was always the perfect mix for the outside to mirror the inside.

She sighed, standing up straight and trying to decide how she could make herself look at least bearable. She turned on the tap and cupped her hands under the running water, trying to wash off the blood. She slid some water further up her arm onto the cut, feeling it sting a little as the drain flooded with red. Lynn thought about all those nights she had gone through this very same routine, some with Matt. He'd sigh and say, 'stop shaking, I'm trying to get all the blood out." And she'd hold her breath and count to ten, then backwards. That always helped. He'd always helped.

Lynn was now on her second three, pooling some water in her open hands and then splashing it on her face.

She looked back up in the mirror, this time more pleased with the face looking back at her.

Her eyes briefly traveled to her arm in the mirror; the other had the charcoal sleeve of her shirt rolled down where as this one was up to her elbow. There was still some blood trickling out of the cut.

Lynn sighed and reached over to grab some toilet paper and then dabbed it onto her skin, holding it in place. She curled it all around her arm, going in circles before finally ripping the fat layer free. She turned to rummage through the cabinet behind the mirror, looking for some sterilizer. Lynn was thinking that maybe the presence of some subscription pills would allow her to know whose room she was in, and having found none, decided it was Sam's. Dean's would be cluttered with pills; she didn't think his volatile behavior was innate.

She spotted some aftershave in the back of the cabinet and decided to go for that.

Lynn dribbled some onto the fat mass of toilet paper she had, feeling its pungent smell sock her in the nose as some accidentally fell to the floor, before holding it down onto her arm. She was still looking in the mirror, watching this clone of hers mimic all her actions.

Five minutes later, she did the same thing, having trashed the old toilet paper. She pressed it flat to the surface of her skin, and rolling down her sleeve hold it in place just as well, at least till she got the proper nourishment.

Lynn was just about to flush the sanguine clothes down the drain, hand hovering right above the handle when she realized she couldn't—if she made any distinct sound that could alert the boys in the other room, she was dead. That's what she told herself right when she woke up; silence is golden.

She quickly retracted her hand, an expression of relief and somewhat realization plastered on her face. She looked down at her nimble fingers no longer laced with blood—they were pale, almost as white as bone, and shaking.

_They'd been doing that for the past hour._

* * *

_He was barely moving, staggering on his feet and trying his best to not cough up his insides. He had his hand over the gaping wet hole in the chest of his jacket as he stumbled along the moonlit pavement. God, he had forgotten how bad being shot hurt._

_His eyes were constantly on the prowl behind the top of his coat collar, watching the nightlife move; what was left of it. The streets were practically empty, with only a few drunken pairs wobbling on their feet as they walked home, and him, and Saul cursed under his breath. He needed to feed, and that only fueled his anger even more, inching towards the cause of all this chaos._

_Dean was the name of the man who tried to kill him, who put a bullet through his chest, one which he was currently digging his fingers around in the crevices of his wound to find. After sparing his life, the jackass didn't even have the courtesy of letting Saul leave unharmed—that's what he had planned for Dean._

_To not hurt a single hair on his head—not permanently at least. But what had the bastard done to him? He shot him and then left him for dead as he chased after his prey; his fucking reason for even coming out tonight._

_And she didn't even do anything to help him._

_After what he had done, Saul felt entitled to some sort of assistance, but then again, Lynn probably had no idea. She was most likely already halfway across New York by the time Dean had raised his gun to Saul's chest, running from…._

_From him._

_Why?_

_He wasn't going to hurt her._

_A satisfied moan slipped past Saul's parted lips, his breathing ragged as he came to a sudden stop. He lifted his fingers up to his face, coated in blood and holding the small piece of iron causing him such discomfort. He looked at it, lips parted as his chest rose up and down, before flicking it onto the road, growling. At least that part was done._

_Saul lifted his gaze from the bullet laying across the grates on the road when he heard an approaching voice, suddenly alert. His chest was still trying to pace itself._

_Saul looked over his shoulder, only to find an approaching silhouetted holding a phone to their ear and giggling._

_A woman._

_She'd have to do._

_Steadying himself, and trying his best not to hack up blood, Saul slowly turned around, his eyes dropping shut. The woman was about six feet away from Saul, so he knew he had to act fast._

_"Ma'am," he panted, eyes almost shut as he the woman came to a stop in front of him._

_She pulled the phone from her ear, an expectant expression etched in her features, tiredness in his. She had a blonde pixie cut._

_"Can I help you, sir?" she asked._

_Saul nodded._

_"Yes, you can" he said, and then took a step closer, decreasing the distance between them. "I need….God, I need to borrow y-your phone."_

_The blonde lady quirked a confused brow._

_"My phone?"_

_Saul sighed heavily, feeling blood soak his coat more and more, trickling down the curve of his stomach beneath his shirt._

_"Yes, your phone, now." He breathed, as the woman eyed him skeptically. Saul was growing impatient, now only about two feet from the woman._

_She brought the phone to her ear, telling whomever she was speaking to that she loved them and that she'd call them back, and was stretching her hand out, but she stopped when her eyes landed on Saul's hand desperately gripping onto the fabric of his drenched coat._

_Her eyes widened, and Saul's only thinned in confusion._

_"Y-you're bl-bleeding." The woman stuttered, and pointed her slim ringed finger at the dark-haired stranger's chest._

_Saul looked down at it, at his hand. He lifted it from his wound, opening his palm and finding it drenched in red._

_He chuckled tiredly and shrugged._

_"I guess I am. "He said._

_"We need to get you to the hospital." She chastised, taking a step closer to Saul, and he was about to take his chance, grab her by the neck and trap her against the wall to suck her dry. He pushed forward his left foot…_

_And that was when he felt it—a sharp pang of pain jutting through his neck and down to his legs, causing him to crumble in pain._

_Saul hissed as he fell to his knees, and the lady squealed._

_"Are you okay?" she bent down to him, placing her small hands on his trembling frame as her phone lay on the concrete nearby._

_Saul squinted at it, citing it as merely a blurry blob. His body was convulsing, giving out on him, something it always did before he managed to save himself. He hadn't fed all night—he was too caught up with Lynn –and now he was too weak to even just heal the wound in his chest, having already used his power to revive himself._

_The blonde-girl was kneeling beside him, calling to him, but her voice was muffled, drowned out by the piercing shrill buzzing in his head. He felt the heat in his head intensify, crawling down his neck and swallowing his entire body._

_He had to save himself._

* * *

**_DUN DUN DUN!_**

**_What exactly is going to happen with Lynn and the Winchesters? What does the future have in store for Saul? Will he make it, or is this the end for him? Find out 16 will be up either tomorrow, or the day after, and once again thank you all so much for the continued support. You guys got this story to 2k and it's insane! Thank you so much,_**

**_Please, please, please review, follow and favorite if you liked this. Don't be afraid to tell me what you thought of the chapter and the story in general. PS: please tell me what you guys think of the lengths of these chapters because it's something that really stresses me out about my writing. Do you guys like these long chapters? or should I shorten them? I just really want the pacing of the story to be done well, and want the relationships between characters to bloom and not just be thrown out there. Let me know. Have a nice day!_**


	16. EXTREMELY IMPORTANT NOTICE!

_**IMPORTANT NOTICE!**_

_Okay, so I hadn't realized that this site has been posting ALL my chapters without the time skips (***) for some odd reason, and it has made it look like all my chapters just have random time skips and POV shifts done by paragraphing and honestly, wtf? I am soo damn pissed and frustrated right now ugghhhh_

_**THAT IS NOT THAT CASE!**_

_I'm trying to sort things out now, but the time skips, and POV shifts, will be shown by the vertical line ie;  
_

* * *

_I'm so sorry, I had absolutely no idea fucked me over like this. I'm trying to fix this mess up as soon as I can._


	17. Chapter 16

**_AN: I normally don't put Author's note's in the beginning of the chapters, but I just wanted to tell you guys that I really appreciate all the support this story has gotten so far :3_**

**_I really enjoyed writing this chapter (one of my top 3) and I hope you enojy reading it just as much._**

* * *

_He didn't regret it one bit. He'd managed to feed, and his injuries were now long gone, merely a faded scar etched on the skin of his chest. Why would he anyway? He'd done this more times than he could count, killing. It was almost an instinct for him, nothing beyond routine, and so why would he feel any once of guilt?_

_Saul rose to his feet, inhaling deeply, and then looking down at the body splayed across the cement._

_He chuckled briefly, smirking wickedly at his bluing work._

_He had strangled her at first, holding her up against the brick wall of 'Mr. Ling's Optics and Eye-screening's building. If he could, Saul would've roasted her like the rest, would've let her porcelain skin seer off, but he had just gotten his mojo back. A shame, that. Strangling would do, he thought. He'd sucked her dry, draining every ounce of life out of her petite body as she struggled against him. That was something Saul could never let drift from his mind; the way they struggled, the feeling of their blunt fingernails digging into his flesh as they tried to pry his hands from their neck. God, it tickled him just thinking about it._

_Saul adjusted his posture, straightening out and fixing his rumbled collar._

_He glanced down at his chest—there was blood staining the white of his shirt, a large pool, but at least beneath it there was no hole. He'd dealt with that._

_Turning on his heel, he begun to walk away, whistling as he thought what the pigs would think when they found her. They'd probably think some street rat raped her and then made for the hills once he was done making a mess of her. They always did that, those bums; touched what wasn't theirs with their dirty grimy hands like hungry swine. They had always disgusted Saul, but who was he to judge?_

_He was as good as a rapist._

* * *

"_I'm telling you, Dean, this is going to work."_

_"Is it?"_

_"Will the both of you keep it down?"_

Lynn shot up at the sound of voices, pushing the blanket aside.

She stared at the door where the muffled banter came from, vibrating all the way through the wood and into the room.

_They were back._

She swallowed, and her hand traveled under the sheets right by her legs, feeling around for cold metal. A gun. She had found it in the dresser. She wasn't going to let them get her this time, no. It was their time to be the puppets on her tightly wrung string.

Finally she managed to find the gun, keeping her grip firm on it and ready to yank it out when suddenly the door burst open.

Lynn froze, keeping her hand under the covers, the cool metal tickling her skin.

Dean clenched his jaw and nodded.

"Morning." He said.

Lynn remained quiet, still taken by surprise upon her visitors entry, and silently stared at the pair of brothers, suddenly spotting someone else in their midst. She had to squint to make out the figure; it was a man, dark brown hair tousled on top of his head, five o'clock shadow lacing his jaw, and piercing blue eyes. He was behind both Winchesters, almost sandwiched between them. Lynn eyed the three of them cautiously, her eyes falling from the face of the younger Winchester to that of the mystery man, and then back onto Dean. Why weren't they moving? Could they maybe sense that Lynn had her finger lightly grazing the trigger beneath the blanket? Or maybe they were just as afraid of her as she was of them. There was always that possibility. Very unlikely, but yes. Maybe.

Her heart felt like it was about to burst from all this; this unnecessary suspense.

"How'd you sleep? I mean, if at all you did." Sam said suddenly from behind his brother, mumbling the last bit of his statement.

Lynn's lips were ajar, her eyes split into two thin lines. She looked over to Dean.

He was still looking at her.

She swallowed, deciding that maybe staying silent would just give them more opportunity to attack her.

She needed to show them she was at least still mildly sane.

"Water."

Sam wrinkled his brow as Dean did the same.

"What?"

"Water."

Lynn watched as the two men exchanged skeptical glances, before Dean turned around and walked out the door without a word. He returned a minute later with a glass of water in his hand filled to the brim and Lynn was grateful they at least got that part of her speech.

Approaching her ever so gingerly, the elder Winchester tried to keep the water from spilling over the brink as the dark haired girl watched intently, much like the two men at the door.

Lynn silently tightened her hold on the gun, the pad of her finger lightly grazing the trigger as she waited for Dean to get close enough for her to strike, keeping her focus settled on him entirely. She didn't know exactly what would come next once she had the green-eyed hunter in a headlock and the gun to his head, but she figured she'd just let the universe decide where things went from there, hopefully in her favor. She wasn't going to shoot anyone, no, all she wanted to do was give the two, now three, men a fright. One big enough they'd just set her free.

Dean was only a foot away from the bed, the water threatening to spill over the sheets, and Lynn decided now was her chance.

The gun was firmly clasped in her hand, her eyes were fixed on the green-eyed man, and her heart felt like any minute now it was going to spring out of her chest and fall flat on the floor.

It didn't.

Instead, Lynn was the one on the floor ten seconds later.

_Shit._

She groaned, her face molded into the wooden floorboards as Dean held her hands behind her back. He was kneeling over her, as Sam rushed to his side.

What Lynn had done twenty seconds prior was yank the gun out from under the sheets and aim it at Dean's chest once he handed her the water, his hand still firmly on the glass she was too holding. He was about to pull away when, in no less than a second, he realized the position they were in.

The mystery man shouted for Dean at the door.

The green-eyed hunter's eyes grew wide like planets.

His fingers unclasped from the glass of water, and it fell to the ground with a loud crash.

Lynn's trembling hand once gripping the now shattered glass curled into a fist, and she swiftly swung it to meet with Dean's jaw, causing him to topple over, cursing to himself.

And Lynn felt like she was about to vomit from all the tension perfuming the room.

She had tried to get on her feet, but as soon as the sole of her leather boot touched the ground, Dean hooked his foot around her ankle and yanked her down.

She fell with a loud thud and 'fuck'.

And Dean had scrambled over to restrain her.

"Let me go!" Lynn shouted, squirming beneath him, her face pressed flat against the wet floor. Some pieces of glass had found their way into her skin, right by the curve of her cheekbone.

"No way!" Dean shouted back.

He looked up at Sam.

"A little help?" he said, but before the younger Winchester could even take a step closer, Dean was suddenly thrown onto his back.

And Lynn was on top of him, straddling him.

The elder Winchester huffed and tried to push the dark-haired girl off of him, planting his hands on her waist and trying to lift her, but Lynn only screwed herself onto him harder.

Sam glanced over at Cas who was watching by the door in sheer surprise.

"Cas?" he urged.

The angel looked to him, shrugging his shoulders. He had no idea what to do.

No one did.

What the hell was happening?

"Sam!" Dean suddenly shouted in a strangled cry, and the younger Winchester looked over, only to find him turning blue in the face.

Lynn's nimble shaky hands were wrapped firmly around his neck, cutting of his oxygen supply. She was breathing heavily, feeling her stomach tie and knot itself within her. God, she'd never done anything like this, she had never tried to kill anyone. And here she was, her legs on either side of the green-eyed hunter, her hands wrung firmly around his thick neck, her watery grey eyes locked with his, his…_vulnerable_ ones. _Dean's eyes were, for the first time, vulnerable, scared._ He was scared of _her_, just as she was of him. Lynn realized what was happening; the tables had turned. She was the one bringing Dean to the verge of death, he was the one struggling and resisting, fighting. They had swapped places. And it only irked Lynn the more.

Her hands.

They were shaking, terribly.

Dean's flailing limbs were beginning to go still, and Lynn was only about to rejoice when suddenly, she let out a shrill cry, wailing almost, and fell to the side, right by her gun laying two inches from her.

She screamed one more time, and then looked down at the arm of her blouse. It was beginning to soak, growing a shade darker right by her wrist.

Lynn quickly pulled up her sleeve, only to reveal the toilet paper she had put earlier, desperately clinging to her skin with blood.

Dean let out a gasp of air, trying to refill his lungs, his chest rising and falling jaggedly.

He looked up, and saw Sam.

He was standing with a flask firmly in his hold, looking at Dean with puppy dog eyes.

"Are you okay?"

"What did you do to her?" Dean asked in a hoarse voice, craning his neck to look at Lynn; she was on her side hissing, barring her teeth as she held firmly onto her hand.

Sam glanced at her and then back at his brother.

"Uhm…" Sam swallowed, then shook the flask in his hand.

"It's—"

"Sage."

Sam turned on his heel to face the angel at the door as Dean tilted his head to peep over his brother's shoulders.

Cas raised his brows and nodded.

"I mean, holy water," he tipped his head to the left slightly, almost in confirmation, "but you added sage, didn't you?"

Sam was tripping over his words.

"Y-yeah, it was." He sputtered his voice tired and breathy.

"How'd you know?"

The angel shut his eyes, and let a sigh slip from his lips.

"Because only one thi—"

"Stop it!" Lynn suddenly abruptly.

All pairs of eyes shot to her form twitching and writhing against the floor.

Her eyes were screwed shut, a few tears leaking from the corners.

Dean had regained the air in his lungs as he spoke.

"What?"

Sam was watching silently, his eyes shifting from the face of his brother, and then back to his captive; their captive.

Lynn swallowed thickly.

"St-stop, oh God…" she exhaled sharply, "stop this! Just kill me already!"

Dean was about to stand, now sitting upright with one knee pointed to the ceiling, his arm rested on it, when he heard what Lynn had said.

He stopped himself.

Dean looked up at Sam who was looking just as shocked, his mouth shutting and reopening like a loosely hinged door. He kept on shifting his gaze from Lynn to Dean, and then back to her again. It was like Castiel was invisible to him.

Lynn slowly craned her neck to look up at them, twitching as she did so like she had just been electrocuted. She had tear stains running down her cheeks; her eys were red rimmed, and her face was coated in broken glass, a few shards blending in with the blotted freckles on her cheeks.

When Dean saw this, he couldn't help but feel sorry for her. Why? She had been the one who attacked him when all he did was do as she requested—bring her a glass of water—if anyone was to pity the other, it was she. Not Dean. But the elder Winchester couldn't help it; she looked too vulnerable, and that's when Dean recognized where had had seen that look.

Back at the bar.

Back with the tall dark stranger looming over her in the middle of the dance floor. Was Dean just as bad? Was he as terrifying as that thing, even without putting the mark to use?

Lynn pushed herself up to sit, wincing as she did so.

"Just, fuck, just—"she cringed as she sat up, bringing her other hand to her wrist.

The three men watched as Lynn exhaled heavily, and then turned around and grabbed the marooned gun sitting right beneath the window.

She brought it up to her face, dusting some shards of glass of it and hearing as they clattered to the ground, and sighed, looking up at Dean with red eyes.

"Just, just fucking kill me, please." She said, her voice coming out pleading as Dean looked at her like she was insane—and so did sam. And so did Cas.

Lynn was merely looking up at through blurry vision, her gaze bouncing from each of the three men. At this point she didn't give a damn what happened next— she had had enough of this mess.

_Of her life._

She had had enough of tarnishing her life beyond redemption; her career, her relationships, her entirety in general. Lynn had just managed to get the ball rolling with her music just recently, merely the previous night, she had seen what an impact she'd made, but she had only been fucked over once more. She always was. This was her life. She'd aim for the stars, and miss terribly, instead landing face first on the seething hot sun. Lynn didn't want that anymore, and she definitely didn't want to be taken as some rag doll for a trio of lunatics feigning to be cops.

She'd fake her death, and then run away to start in a new city, she could easily pull that off. Nebraska is always nice in the summer, or if not, LA was always on her waiting list, filled with enough coke and drugs to throw her into Narnia. The possibilities were endless, and in the end, it wouldn't be the first time she did something of the sort. Lynn had run away before, she knew how it worked, and how to stay out of trouble. She needed to trick the boys into putting a bullet through her head, burying her— or otherwise, setting her free in what she could only assume as a dumpster, seeing as they didn't seem to be the classy type –and then she'd be free. Yes. She'd go and live the rest of her miserable eleven month long life in another state as maybe a streetwalker, or join the Mormon Church, or maybe just end up dead in a motel bathroom with her fucking wrist peeled off, because that's all Lynn had going for her. A shit life. _Fuck it._ A bullet in the head sounded pretty damn sweet right now.

She stretched her hand out to Sam, and wiggled the gun.

"Here, Sam." She said.

The younger Winchester's hazel eyes were the size of platters as he looked at the silver firearm clasped in the dark-haired girl's trembling crimson hand.

"I-I can't kill you." He stuttered, looking to Dean.

He was watching Lynn—she was grimacing wickedly, her bloodied teeth peering out from behind her red lips.

She must've bitten herself, he thought. Or maybe she just barred her teeth too hard.

"Please," she growled, "just, t-take the gun, and you just—"

Dean watched as Lynn brought the cold gun up to her head, and pinned it against her temple with a shaky hand, his heart skipping a beat when he found her finger about to press the trigger.

Shit.

"H-hey, no!" Sam shouted.

Dean immediately lunged forward, knocking Lynn to the ground as the gun flew from her blood-stained hand and slid a few inches from her.

Lynn was pinned onto her back, growling before quickly trying to grab hold of the gun once again.

Dean noticed this and quickly pinned her hands down on the sides of her head.

Lynn writhed against him, growling like a feisty bull.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" she barked, her fleshy gums shining from inside her carnal grimace

"Do you want to die?" Dean jeered.

Lynn pursed her lips, feeling her blood boil, then spat straight in the elder Winchester's face.

Sam's jaw fell slack.

So did Cas'.

"Fucking go to hell!" the dark haired girl hissed.

Dean shut his eyes. Steam was shooting out of his, his eyes were fiery embers, and it took all he had not to grab the gun only three tempting inches away from him and shoot Lynn straight in the head as she wished. He didn't thankfully.

Dean shook his head, a disgusted scowl on his face as he leaned in closer to the dark-haired girl's face.

Lynn noticed this, and twitched beneath him, feeling the hairs stand on her neck.

"You're messing with the wrong person, sweetheart." He whispered.

Their faces were only inches apart; fuck, Lynn could fucking count the freckles coloring Dean's cheeks, and he was thinking the exact same thing about her.

Lynn scoffed. "What're you going to do? Kill me?"

"I can do much worse than that."

"You're just a fucking psycho path with a gun; I'm sure you're making empty threats." she said. Her eyes were narrowed into seething grey lines as she tugged the corners of her mouth down into frown.

Dean could feel her slow and tentative breaths tickle his skin, sending his nerves into a frenzy. God, how he hated this woman, how he despised her wanted nothing more than to choke her.

"Dean," Castiel called, making the elder Winchester pull away from Lynn and look over his shoulder.

"What?" he growled with some of his anger still present.

"Let her go—we'll take it from here." Cas instructed.

* * *

Dean didn't know how they'd managed to do it, but they did.

Lynn was strapped down to one of their kitchen chairs, her hands bound, and surprisingly, no cusses or accusations flying out of her crimson tainted mouth. Her lip was busted, but that hadn't stopped her earlier. Dean thought it was just sheer luck—that, or she had given up on fighting them. No matter what Sam tried to convince his brother, he couldn't let the thought of Lynn actually complying register in his mind. He didn't want to. Not after what she did. Dean still had spit germs clinging to his skin. He tried washing it off. No avail.

Cas was dragging another one of their kitchen chairs out into the living room area, which had just been cleared up; the sofas were pushed aside, the glass coffee table far gone in the crevices of Sam's bedroom, and all potential murder weapons out of harm's reach.

The angle sat down, adjusting the flowy trench coat around his legs.

"Okay…" Cas clapped his hands with a usual blank expression.

Dean rolled his eyes.

Lynn mimicked him.

"Let's get started shall we? Lynn I—"

"Screw you!" she spat.

"We're only here to help you," Cas spoke in a bored tone, almost as though he, just as much as the next person, didn't want to be here. Sam was standing in a fair distance with his arms crossed over his chest, and Dean was on his left, icing the shiner Lynn had left him with along his jaw.

"By nearly killing me?" she frantically replied.

"You wanted me to shoot you in the head." Dean chided.

"Shut up.

"Lynn,"

The dark haired girl looked back at the blue-eyed man staring at her; his black hair was flailing in all directions atop his head, his trench coat tickling the wooden floorboards beneath him, and he had his head tilted downwards slightly so he could look at Lynn through his upper lashes. She had just met him and she already wanted to put some lead in him.

The dark haired girl rolled her shoulders, adjusting against her restraints. She jerked her chin up.

"Fuck off."

"You're not making this any easier for yourself, y'know?" Cas said.

"I'm not gonna tell you anything, y'know?" Lynn mimed like a child.

Cas shrugged his shoulders, keeping his elbows pressing firmly into his thighs.

"I don't expect you too," he said simply, "In fact, I'm going to do much of the talking. Simply answer honestly."

"I won't."

"Let's start with something easy, shall we?" Castiel asked, ignoring Lynn's defiant statement. He tilted his head to the left, and squinted subtly, his piercing blue eyes coming out even more vibrant now.

Lynn averted her gaze to the lamppost sitting atop the counter in the kitchen. She remained quiet. Not responding. Dean sighed from where he was, already questioning Cas' pathetic approach to getting her to spill the beans, and wondering why on earth he wasn't the one sitting in that chair. Sam was watching with patience, much unlike his elder.

"Lynn," Cas said cautiously, and eyebrows began to raise in confusion.

All but Lynn's.

She was stone cold.

"Why don't you tell us what exactly it is you do for a living?" Cas said as he sat up straight now, the tail of his coat shifting higher from the ground.

Lynn noticed this out of the corner of her eye, and twitched quietly, but she couldn't give in; she couldn't give them the attention they craved. She needed to remain silent.

Castiel on the other hand, was more than vocal.

"Lynn," he repeated, his expression bland.

Sam and Dean looked at him with complete and utter confusion, and the same thing was starting to stir within the dark-haired girl. She looked at the fridge now.

Lynn could feel the angel's eyes on her, and for some reason, it disgruntled her immensely.

Her skin began to crawl, sweat began to bead on her forehead. This man, this stranger she had met no less than an hour ago, was doing something to her, arousing feelings in her she knew were not…natural. He gave off a certain eerie aura she had been around before. And Lynn, she had felt them before; she knew she had. She knew where, and with whom. But…no. It couldn't couldn't let her mind even go near there…near…him.

"What is your name?" Cas asked.

_Silence._

_Tension._

_Confusion._

Lynn's eyes began to dart to random objects in the room.

"Lynn," Cas repeated.

Her eyes shot to the red mug with black dots sat in the sink.

She swallowed.

"Lynn Deren." The angle repeated.

A bead of sweat trickled down Lynn's leg, curving along her naked calf.

"Why won't you tell me your name?"

The potted plant on the bookshelf. Cactus.

"Tell me your name."

Lynn began to feel like the room was collapsing upon her head. She swallowed.

The picture of the red robin printed on the kitchen calendar. The brick in the wall painted over in olive green.

Dean was about to step in to tell Cas that he was wasting their time with his redundant speech, but stopped when—

"Evelyn Macarthur." The angel said.

The bottle of Guinness sitting by the bin. The sparrow fridge magnet with chipped paint. The mold in the ceiling. The screw in the cabinet hinge. The letter L in calendar. The—

Lynn stopped. Her eyes shot to the dark-haired man sitting across her, faster than lightning.

_And there it was._

Her heart was lying on the kitchen floor, beating ten times faster than normal; just like she had predicted.

"W-what?" she stuttered.

"Your name," Cas said, "Your name is Jesse Evelyn Macarthur."

Lynn's eyes were now threatening to join her heart on the floor, bulging out of their sockets.

Sam and Dean, who were formerly leaning against the window-sill, were now even more confused than earlier on, but at least they were grateful that the angel's constant nattering wasn't for nothing.

* * *

The buzz of New York seeped heavily into the living room. It was morning, and yet somehow, the streets were already stirring to life, pedestrians strolling to work, the florist right across the road already flipping their sign around to read 'open' on the glass of the door. There was always a green Benz parked by the curb which would disappear in daylight, and retreat to its regular hiding spot when night began to bloom. It was nowhere in sight.

The air in the apartment was thickened by tension, and morning dew. Lynn's eyes read the time was 7am. She had her hands painfully tied at the back of the olive wood chair warming the rear of her skirt. Dean was in the kitchen, running the mint green wash cloth he had been using on his jaw under some water, soaking it up.

His shoulders were squared much like his ragged jaw as he quickly cut the water off, and went ahead to reapply his cold compress. Some excess water trickled down his jaw and onto his neck, going as far as the neck of his shirt. Dean allowed a heavy sigh to slip through his lip.

Of course. Of course Lynn had been lying to them all this time about everything that slipped from her bitter tongue. God, it was obvious. And yet, somehow, Dean couldn't help shake the feeling of betrayal that came with it all. How could she do this to them? To him? Back at the bar not too many days back, she played herself out as an open book, seemingly amicable even.—and now here she was revealing that she had an entirely different identity?

Lynn was still in the living room, incessantly tapping her slender fingers against the frame of the chair.

Dean refrained from look at her, knowing just how big of a negative effect it would have on him.

Instead, he pulled the warming cloth from his busted jaw, and flooded it some more. He squeezed out the excess droplets, and placed it back against his jaw, letting his heavy eyelids shut. It wasn't too late after dawn, and Dean was already anticipating jumping into bed and catching some Z's.

Sam had gone with Cas back to Caleb's to speak to Gaby. Dean had insisted on tagging along, but the younger Winchester was firmly against it, claiming that he should stay behind and watch Lynn until they got back. Sam was still mad with Dean. Figures. He always acted like an arrogant prick when his brother had a single setback much like the previous night, and despite Sam's claims of moving past it all, he was still trying his brother's patience with his new regime. Leaving Dean behind with the captive while he and Cas scout out the town.

Dean needed a drink.

He set the soaked washcloth down on the counter, and stepped over to the fridge.

He pried the door open and bent down to have a look-see. Lettuce and Bread. Great. Just what he need to get through the peak of his day.

He shut the door with a loud bang, huffing in frustration, before returning to the sink.

Dean was just about to pick up the cloth, his hand hovering right above it, when all of a sudden, there was a thud.

The elder Winchester quickly spun around, his alert eyes fixed in the living room space. On lynn.

She was writhing against the restraints vigorously, rocking the chair back and forth.

"Hey!" Dean shouted, quickly bolting over.

Lynn wasn't paying attention, instead continuing her incessant rattling. It was only when she saw Dean's shadow at her feet that she looked up, her eyes going wide and lips parted subtly.

She jerked her head at her leg.

"My phone—it's ringing." Lynn said, the muffled sound of buzzing almost inaudible.

Dean eyed her skeptically, thinking that maybe she was about to pull something. Lynn could obviously tell, and she rolled her eyes.

"God," she snorted, "it's in the left pocket of my skirt, okay? Check it if you want?"

Dean lifted his chin defiantly. "And how exactly can I be sure you're not lying about that too, huh?" he replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm that made the dark-haired girl let out an agitated growl.

"I'm not!" Lynn spat, the sonorous ringing still sounding out.

Dean stared at her for a second, before giving in with a sigh.

Coming closer, he rested one hand on the back of the chair right by Lynn's head, and leaned over her. Lynn swallowed heavily as Dean's chest rose and fell just an inch away from hers, his breathing tickling the freckles on her skin. She tried not to think of how her nerves went ablaze at the proximity between the two of them, as did Dean.

He licked his lips, slightly nervous for some reason, and let his hand explore the confines of Lynn's pocket.

His grip on the back of the chair tightened.

Finally, he found it, and quickly retracted his hand before quickly pulling away.

"Uhm, okay," He cleared his throat.

Lynn tried her best to avoid the hunter's emerald gaze. She muttered a twin 'okay' back as Dean tried to answer the phone, looking down at it, when suddenly, the ringing stopped.

The elder Winchster's gaze bounced to Lynn. He raised a quizzical brow at her but she merely shrugged.

"Well who is it?" She asked. Dean's eyes ran over the name blinking on the phone screen. Brady. 3 missed calls. Lynn must've been too easy grinding her internal organs into a pulp to notice that the brunette had been trying to reach her. Dean realized he was probably looking for her at the second, scavenging town to find her—if he wasn't, then Dean would've advised Lynn to find a new posse.

The elder Winchester tsited the corners of his mouth down, shrugged, then tossed the phone into the air.

"Brady," he announced Nonchalantly, the device landing flat in Lynn's lap.

Lynn looked down at it briefly, and then back at Dean.

"Brady?' her eyes wearied.

"Did I stutter?" Dean replied.

"Well, w-what does he want?"

"Yes, because I would know what your boyfriend wants when he's calling your number—" He growled and his mint eyes suddenly slit into thin lines, and Lynn's began to widen in surprise of his sudden change in tone.

"God, get off my back." Dean muttered in an agitated tone, before turning on his heel and heading back to the kitchen. Lynn remained glued to her chair, still profusely confused—and frankly, frightened –by the elder Winchester's outburst. She thought maybe Dean was just really good at hiding his pills—the bathroom cabinet would be too obvious after all.

Lynn scoffed.

"He's not my boyfriend." She suddenly muttered without a thought.

The room froze, not an ounce of movement.

As soon as Lynn realized this, she cursed herself; where did that even come from? Why the hell did that even matter? Of all things to say in response, instead of a witty remark or a roll of her grey orbs, she chose to deny Dean's acclaims.

Dean froze in his tracks. He furrowed his brow profusely.

"What?"

Lynn felt an embarrassed blush crawl onto her freckled cheeks.

"Just,"—she sighed, her eyes darting all over the room hastily— "never mind. When are your friends getting back?" she asked, trying to change the topic.

Dean noticed this, and decided to go along, brushing the entire thing off like stale lint.

"Not for a while." He responded. His back was still facing Lynn's front. He continued walking to the kitchen.

Dean reached the sink, staring at the washcloth, about to pick it up.

He lifted his hand, but instead, pushed it into the metal sink.

He let out a sigh, shutting his heavy eyelids, and then turned around to face Lynn. The ledge of the counter pressed into his lower back bitingly as Dean rested his hands atop the counter on either of his sides.

He needed answers.

He stared at her intently, and cocked his head.

"So," the elder Winchester began.

Lynn looked up from her shoes and at his deep green eyes.

_"Jesse Evelyn Macarthur?"_

* * *

**_Hah! Bet you guys didn't see that plot twist, now did you?_**

**_We'll dig more into the background of Lynn's identity in the next chapter, but I just really wanted to introduce it here. Maybe a few people picked it up when I hinted in a few chapters that she had run away from home under a new name, but if not, there you have it._**

**_Please review, follow, and favorite!_**

**_I love you guys so much,_**

**_Thank you for the support :)_**


	18. Chapter 17

**_AN:_**

**_This Chapter is dedicated to Hurricane.'97. Thank you so much for the support :)_**

* * *

_Three days._

In the bible, between all the mentions of lamb slaughter and bashing people's heads in with gravel, that's exactly how long it took for Jesus to raise himself from the grave. The scars from the nails in his hands hadn't faded in those mere three days, still imprinted in his palms like spots on a cheetah, and the hole in his side where a spear was gouged into him was still raw, soaking the bandages he wore with the scent of metal. But still, he lived.

Three days.

_Three days, and Lynn still felt like she was wedged deep in her grave—the very one she had dug herself into._

Wednesday morning met Lynn with a gracious prim rose sky leaking into the confines of her jail cell. Dean had been sleeping on the couch ever since, and she had to bear the burden of sleeping in his bed for the past three nights; the nights' when she did sleep, rather than stirring about in the clammy heated sheets. The previous night had been the only one checked off that list so far.

Lynn squinted at the pinkish orange sky just outside the window opposite her bed; she was laying on her side, knees tucked slightly into her, feet crossed over each other, and her hand buried beneath her pillow. If it wasn't for the despondence of her life at the moment, Lynn would've reveled in being up by the break of dawn. She couldn't count how many sleepless nights and mugs of black coffee she had to get through just so she'd be up early enough for this. For the sky. In all its pinks and orange glory.

Lynn shut her eyes and tried to imagine herself home.

A tear leaked from the corner of her eye. It traveled along the curve of her freckled cheek, and landed on her pillow just like it had been doing for the past three days.

Three days, and Lynn still felt like she was six feet under.

She had seen the sunrise, loved it., and was now about fall back asleep, already drooping her eyelids shut, when came a knock at the door.

Hereyes shot open as fast as they could.

She sprung up like a tree, looking to the door, when suddenly she toppled back against the bed.

"Fuckin' hell." Lynn hissed, shutting her eyes.

She tried to get up again, but felt a sting plunge through her veins, followed by another.

She looked to the side.

_Handcuffs._

Lynn groaned angrily and viciously shook her arm, causing the chain to rattle against the bedpost it was worked onto. Lynn gave up with a sigh, and plopped her head back against the pillow, when again came another knock.

She tucked her chin into her neck, looking at the door past her nose.

"Hello?" came a voice.

She froze and her blood went cold when she realized who it was.

_Castiel_

She'd only met him this week, but in the past days of getting acquainted, Lynn had already tried to kill Cas at least five times. She had all three men in her sights, but starting Monday, he was her main target. Fire, pushing him out the window, trying to slice his throat. Lynn tried much more than was good for her to kill him, and this wasn't some petty tom foolery for him outing her identity, or him helping the Winchesters, or having anything associated with them, but this was solely because, from the day they met Lynn was terrified of Castiel.

Because he was an angel.

She knew it, the very malevolence of angels. She'd dealt with it years back, and since she'd never wished to embark on meeting one ever again. And here Lynn was, living with, breathing in the same air, as the very thing itself. An angel of the lord.

Lynn knew from day one that there was something wrong in Cas' book, God, she could fucking smell it. Just the very aura he gave off—it was different from Sam and Dean's, from anyone who'd she'd ever met, but yet, it was suffocating familiar. Lynn could feel it reverberate in her bones, with each glance he'd send her way, each wave of warmth he radiated onto her.

She'd been around someone—something—like him before.

And it was only until Castiel revealed Lynn's true identity that her suspicions were confirmed. She needn't hear anything more; that was more than enough proof to show that he knew things no-one knew.

Since then, Lynn had been kept up every night in tears, in her own blood, trying to think of a way to escape, purely to get away from Castiel. It was just a theory, but she could never be too safe when the idea popped into her head. He was working with cas. That's how she ended up her. And if Lynn didn't get out before he himself would come around and turn her into mince, then she—

The door suddenly burst wide open, and Lynn's eyes nearly popped out of her skull when she saw the trench coat clad man enter her room.

Her heart leaped into her chest.

"Good morning Lynn." Cas greeted as he approached the dark-haired girl strapped to her bed.

* * *

The rain was pelting fat drops of water onto the collar of Sam's coat, causing them to trickle further down into his shirt and tickle the skin of his shoulder.

He wished he could have blamed Dean for the absence of his army green umbrella, maybe accuse him of rushing Sam out of the apartment so fast that his head spun round and around, and he was too hazy to even realize he had forgotten the damn thing by his bed post.

That sort of the justification, having happened more times than he could count, would've been easier to rely on. But no. today, Sam's trembling hands he was currently trying to soothe, and icy frosted lips quivering with the same tempo as his fingers, were his fault. He was the one to take the fall for his irresponsibility, and all for what?

A girl.

Sam would roll his eyes endlessly if they weren't gluing to the inside of his eyelids.

He made a turn at Mr. Ling's building, trying to avoid the viscous rain beating down on him as he made a left, and came to the entrance of the 's.

Sam swallowed once he was at the entrance of Caleb's, rolling his shoulders, and adjusting his coat as he looked inside the building.

There she was, manning one of the tables of in the left wing of the room with two teenage girls laughing and smiling at her. Sam let the corner of his lip tug up into a smile, watching as Gaby waved her hands up in the air with humorous gesticulations. The girls laughed even more.

Sam shook himself from his mind, then breathed in heavily.

_He went in._

* * *

Heart beating ten times faster, Lynn's eyes jumped up to look at her wrist.

There was no way she could escape him.

She bit her lip. Her eyes were pouring out of their sockets.

The angel's blue eyes were raking up and down Lynn's disheveled form; she'd been wearing the very same clothes for the past days, as if she didn't feel like trash already. Her skirt was tattered and ripped at the hem, her stockings too, and the sleeves of her shirt were beyond wrinkled, starting to look like rolled up tobacco.

Cas let out a sigh, then looked up at Lynn, trying his best to seem amicable.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked in a smooth voice. Lynn couldn't blame herself for thinking he was human at first glance—he seemed to harmless to be a warrior of heaven, his voice was too serene, smooth like cream. He seemed too fragile.

She remained staring at him silently.

Cas started to feel uncomfortable, and instead tried to look at anything other than her as he moved around her room aimlessly, speaking.

"How are you feeling? Are you getting enough rest?" he asked.

Lynn spoke up this time.

"Why the hell do you care?" she spat vehemently.

The angel shrugged. "Why wouldn't I?"

"Maybe because of how you and your pals over there have been treating me like an animal—maybe even less than—in the past days I've been here."

"Lynn, we're trying our best to let you know we're not the bad guys."

Lynn could spit at that, scoff her throat sore. "

Please," she sneered, "Maybe I'd believe if I wasn't bound to this bed post, and my stomach wasn't empty."

"We sent you food, Lynn. No one forced you to not eat it." Cas replied, looking to the plate set by the bed. The scrambled eggs were stale and now merely oozing their oil onto the plate, and the meatballs were soaking up the vapor in the air as it had been doing since the previous night.

Lynn glanced down at the plate, then back up at the angel, and shrugged.

"How am I sure it's not laced with amphetamines?"

Castiel slouched his shoulders and sighed. He was obviously done dealing with her little antics.

"Lynn," he began with an essence of tiredness, "you're making this harder than it is."

"I'm the one being held captive for half a week."

"Because you won't tell us anything we ask you—we promised you, if you tell us what we need to know, we'll set you free. We're the good guys." Cas finished, causing Lynn scoff.

She wriggled her chained wrist for show.

Castiel looked.

He sighed with shame.

"That wasn't my idea." He admitted, now looking into Lynn's eyes.

"Cut the crap, feathers." she jeered.

Castiel sighed heavily. She could tell that he had had just about enough of her and her defiance, but he wasn't doing anything. Lynn was surprised at that—why wasn't he setting her wrist on fire with his grace? Or battering her until she spoke up? Why was he, and angel of the lord, just standing there at the foot of her bed with his shoulders slouched, and puppy dog eyes?

There was a thick silence perfuming the room before Castiel raised his blue eyes to meet Lynn's.

"Jesse." The angel said.

Lynn's pupils shrunk to the size of a bead. Her mouth was all of a sudden dry, her throat just as bad, and she froze up.

Castiel breathed in with his chest rising, and then out, before looking around the room boredly.

Lynn was waiting for him to say something, but instead, the angel began to walk around the room, scrutinizing the little ornaments he found.

"That's a beautiful name." Cas said as he sauntered along Dean's dresser, looking over whatever was packed on top of it.

Lynn watched him from where she lay, feeling even too tired to fall into a panic. She was calm. Collected.

Lynn was ready to die.

"Don't you like it?" he asked, still not looking over at the restrained girl.

Lynn thought of shouting for Sam and Dean, but in her eyes, they were just as big of a threat, maybe even more. Castiel's being an angel would at least justify his brutality; Sam and Dean, they were just inhumane humans finding a kink in blood.

Lynn felt a few strands of her hair tickle the tip of her nose as she lay with her elbows pressing firmly into the mattress beneath her. She still didn't answer. She wasn't planning to. Maybe as an angel Castiel could actually kill her despite her curse, seeing as he had some weird hoodoo grace bestowed on him, but Lynn believed she would be buried with all her secrets from the past.

She wasn't planning on telling them to a soul, even in the face of death.

"You humans, you're lucky you get to choose your name. You have a sense of individuality. In heaven, you're given a name according to your rank in the garrison." Castiel rounded the room once again, passing the bed to go stand right in front of the window.

He inhaled deeply, reveling in the sight of the sunrise Lynn felt like he was violating just by looking at it with his eyes.

"It's not that I mind 'Castiel," he whispered in a suddenly soft voice, and it sounded like the angel was long gone lost in his thoughts.

He had his back to Lynn as he spoke.

"It would just be nice to be able to choose your name—your identity—and not have it manufactured for you. It's all so fake. It's not real." Cas said, turning around to face the bed.

_Yes._

God, yes, Lynn knew what he meant. She had thought about that when she was on the train from her home to Manhattan, her bag stuffed with food stamps, some gram crackers, and a fake ID and passport. Running away, creating this new identity—it all had an essence of rebirth, renewal in it. Like one day Lynn could just wake up, and she was a whole different person. She'd often wished for that. To wake up and be someone else, somewhere across the globe, maybe China, Beirut even, in another body which wasn't hers.

A body which had lived for at least thirty years before it found out its clock was ticking. Lynn had thought of what life she'd want to take on too many more nights than she should have—a twelve year old girl training to be a professional figure-skater; a sixty year old man who served in Vietnam and has an amputated leg and a jack Russell named Bruno to prove it; a mother of six children working as a prostitute to make pay. All those alternative options seemed far better than the very bitter one Lynn was forced to come to terms with. Herself.

When she ran away from home, when she ran away from the girl she once was—from Jesse—Lynn was reborn.

No longer an identity picked out for her by a God sitting in the clouds with his feet up and laughing at the mortality of the world; not the law student a twelve year old girl who watched too much Judge Judy aspired to be; Not the girl who watched her parents shot gunned on the kitchen floor, and then, so stricken with fear, with selfishness about what was going to happen to her, bargained her soul into the hands of what could've been the devil.

_She was made real._

"I hate Jesse." She said abruptly.

Castiel turned around to face the source of the small voice speaking, the pale beat up girl barely breathing, whom Dean had chained to his bed.

Lynn could feel his blue gaze on her.

She laughed sardonically, shaking her head.

"God, I hate it. The name, the way it rolls off my tongue. Honey bee—did you know that Jesse means honey-bee?" she asked, finally looking up at him.

The angel didn't know what to say, still stricken by surprise that there were words leaking from her mouth.

He shrugged his shoulders, shaking his head. "I didn't"

She sighed. "Well, it does, and I don't even like honey. I hate it. Makes my throat feel like its gluing shut. They named me that, and, and, I just—I hate the name."

"You seem to hate a lot of things." Cas said.

Lynn looked at him, only to find him smiling contently at her.

"I don't hate Lynn." She said.

"How come?"

She then tilted her head back to look up at the pale ceiling, thinking of what to say. Of how to phrase the words she had never eve spoken to anyone, but was now spilling like a desperate faucet. Lynn exhaled.

"Because….Lynn is strong. She's enduring."

The sun was lighting up the side of Lynn's face like a Christmas tree, contrasting her freckles to the paleness of the rest of her skin.

Castiel watched, his hands fixed in his pockets, and his eyes fixed on her. The room was silent for a moment.

"Lynn, she—she watched all this bad happen to her, and she still got through it." Lynn said as her eyes begun to well up with tears. "She watched her parents— her mum and dad? She watched them die on the kitchen floor; she even cleaned up their blood the next morning."

Castiel resisted the urge to wipe them away, instead watching her, her face, her features, twisted to the tune of her emotions as she spoke.

"Lynn was strong enough to move past that. She survived that. Lynn is…she's…"

Lynn couldn't bring herself to speak. She swallowed the throbbing lump in her throat.

Cas decided that he would be the one to carry the rest of the conversation.

"You know you don't have to do this?" he asked, and Lynn shook her head vigorously as a few tears slipped from her eyes and onto her pale cheeks.

"I want to." She said in a voice too small to be her very own. Lynn felt like a mouse in the presence of a bear; small, vulnerable. God, she hated it. This isn't what she wanted, to be seen as fragile, as breakable, especially by her enemy. And yet here she was, her grey eyes glazed over with tears. Lynn couldn't remember why she was doing this.

She had forgotten that ages ago, along with her dignity.

She sniffled her pink nose, then brought her hand up to wipe it, exhaling heavily, before looking up at Castiel.

He had been silent for a while now, and when Lynn looked to him, his expression said why.

Brow furrowed, lips subtly pursed, piercing blue eyes looking like they could cut through diamonds with a mere glance. He was lost in thought once again. Lynn brought him back to reality.

"We don't choose our names." She said, causing the angel to break from the repetitive cycle of thought he was running through.

Castiel's eyes shot up.

"I'm sorry?"

"Us humans, we don't choose our names. That's insane to think you have that sort of independence when you fall out. Our parents do it for us." She answered simply, a hint of underlying snark. The notion that a newborn baby who fell out of its mother's womb could even comprehend the vowels in its name was beyond ridiculous.

Lynn watched as Castiel scrutinized her. She had hoped that maybe she hadn't gotten too far under his skin with what she had just said, regardless of whether she meant it as mere banter, or a tongue and cheek way to say the angel was beyond asinine with his assumptions.

Either way, Lynn couldn't help the crawl of her skin at the way Cas was staring at her. The whole point of her even talking with him was merely to distract from him attacking her, at least postpone it.

She was about to say something to push forth with the conversation when the angel cut her off.

"Did your parents name you Lynn?" he asked out of the blue. He had his burly arms crossed over his chest, folding the creases in his coat all the more.

She swallowed. He wasn't contemplating skinning her in her state of vulnerability. A good sign.

Lynn nodded. "My mother."

Castiel mirrored her, almost in confirmation.

"And Jesse?" he added.

"My father."

"Macarthur."

"My father's second name." Lynn replied, feeling the strain nerves in her shoulder begin to prickle.

She was beginning to feel like she was back in the uncomfortably stiff kitchen chair from a few days prior, having questions slung at her over and over, only this time actually complying with answers. She started to think that maybe this was their plan all along. Maybe Sam and Dean sent Cas in to get some information out of Lynn. Squeezing her dry didn't do them any good; maybe they were taking a new approach. The sly devils. Of course they'd have some sick joke like this up their sleeves.

Lynn tried to slide the insinuation smoothly into the conversation, try a Trojan horse approach. She couldn't be caught dead in her tracks. No, that would just make the tension in the air thicker than honey.

Lynn swallowed a mouthful of air and held it in her lungs for a while, before speaking.

"Castiel," she begun ever so gently, trying to weasel in some charm.

The angel raised his brow at her. "Yes?"

Lynn's lungs began to burn from their expanses, threatening to tear. She couldn't give up just now. This kind of yielding would push her through her works even faster.

"Not that it's a bad thing, but, why do you—y'know, care, about all of this?" Lynn said as her eyes remained fixed on the angel leaning against her window.

She licked her smudged crimson lips.

"About me?"

Castiel shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly, ready to respond, when suddenly, the door swung up with a swift motion, casting a gust of wind into the room.

Both sets of eyes shot its way, only to find the burly form of Dean standing front and center.

He looked as though he had just walked in on something with his lips lightly parted and emerald green eyes darting from face to face.

Lynn swallowed.

She feared Dean—not in the way that he frightened her, as Castiel did, but more so that he usually sent her nerves into an anxious frenzy, one she could hardly recover from in less than an hour. Any conversation with him was vital.

Lynn was opening and closing her mouth repeatedly, the words in her lost at the tip of her tongue until Castiel spoke up.

"Dean," he said, "What are you doing here?"

The green-eyed hunter's expression slowly mellowed to one of indifference as he settled his eyes on Cas, took a second to adjust, thankful that there was no slaughter occurring a few minutes prior his entry, then exhaled.

"Just checking up on our friend here," he said, gesturing to Lynn with an arm.

She narrowed her eyes venomously at him.

"Oh," Cas said quietly, "well everything's fine—Lynn's fine. She 's be—"

"I haven't eaten in days." Lynn proclaimed, cutting the angel off as her eyes never, not once, left Dean's face.

The mere sight of him aroused her anger in the pit of her empty stomach. Lynn was tolerant of Dean for the past week or so that she had been around him only because she felt that he was entitle to this—he had saved her life, no matter how far that memory was blocked out in Lynn's brain. It was a gnawing nag at the back of her brain that would just intensify at the sight of him. Lynn hated that she and Dean couldn't be friends. Prior her kidnapping, she had beginning to like him. That ended as fast as it had begun.

Now Lynn was staring at the elder Winchester with such vehemence she was hoping he would drop dead in the next few seconds.

He didn't.

He was still talking.

"And, whose fault is that exactly?" Dean crossed his arms over his chest as he cocked his head to the side.

Lynn grumbled.

"I can't trust you with anything going in my body." She growled.

"You're still breathing, aren't you?" the elder Winchester countered, raising his eyebrows with such an arrogant nonchalance Lynn felt an even stronger urge to re-open the stitches along his jaw.

"Barely!"

Dean threw his head back with a boisterous sardonic laugh. "Gosh—there we go again with the melodramatics!"

"Melodramatics? M-Melodr—you kidnapped me, starved me, chained me to your bed, and you expect what? A-a fucking 'thank you'?" Lynn was now straining against the tie restricting her from shooting across the room and tearing off Dean's face, "Fine you dick, thank you for such poor hospitality, yeah. While you're at it, maybe be a doll and just dump my body in the river when you're done with it, huh?"

Lynn finished with a grumble.

Dean smiled wickedly.

"Even that's too good for you."

"Go to hell, you fucking scumbag!"

"Lynn, that's enough." Castiel interrupted an argument he would only classify as childish.

He turned to Dean.

"Both of you."

"She started it," Dean reflected with a disgruntled grimace pointed at Lynn.

Cas shook his head tiredly, bringing his hand up to stroke his face. "I said enough."

Dean glanced at his friend. He felt pity that Castiel had even agreed to ride shotgun on their crazy train. The fact that he even considered it proved that maybe, yes, he _did_ belong there, but regardless, the elder hunter decided that the constant back and forth was only going to bring Cas more distress. He had more pressing matters to tend to either way.

Dean rolled his green eyes. "Whatever."

"Are you two going to stop bickering like toddlers now?" Cas asked with a tone of a parent scolding their children.

Dean's arms were still crossed over his chest defiantly.

If Lynn's weren't tied down, they would be too.

"Fine." The elder Winchester sighed in despondence.

Lynn jutted her lower lip out further. "No promises."

"That's good enough for me. Anyway," then angel sighed and then turned to face the elder Winchester. "Dean," he said, "I'm going to go check if Sam has any lead on the attacker from the bar. Can you stay and watch her?"

Lynn heard cas' request, and she scoffed.

"What am I, twelve?"

"No, but you already tried setting Cas on fire the other day." Dean replied as he glanced at her briefly.

Lynn shrugged, her elbows poking up to her ears.

"And yet here he is breathing in the same air as I am—rookie move, feathers."

Dean rolled his eyes, adjusting his arms as Cas' eyes looped in his skull..

"Can you watch her?" The angel pressed; his voice came out in an almost pleading tone Dean just couldn't look past. He gave in.

"Fine." The elder Winchester sighed.

Castiel flashed him a brief grateful smile, patted him on the shoulder, and then made round him and for the door, leaving he and Lynn to stew in the bitter thick air.

Lynn lifted her eyes to those of the elder Winchester. She cocked her brows.

"Well are you going to untie me at least?" she asked.

Dean turned his gaze from the door and onto her. He took in a deep breath, then shook his head no, creasing his brow lightly.

"Now why would I do that?" he smirked in the slightest to which Lynn rolled her eyes.

"Whatever," she murmured as she wriggled higher up in her bed. "It was worth a shot."

* * *

_It was pitch black when he arrived back, the only illumination being the moonlight seeping in from the attic window._

_Saul hummed in a sing song voice, taking in the dim lit environment infested with cobwebs and shards of shattered glass splayed across the floor. The clock hanging limply upon the wall looked like it had been plucked from a Burton 60's movie, with the glass centre battered into nothingness, and the sly black arrows dangling close to each other. 4:20 it read—back in '99 when the miserable thing was still together._

_Saul strutted his way over to the alter right below the gaping moonlight, kicking a few shards of glass in his path. It was adorned with crystals, jars of herbs, and rolled up scrolls of thin paper bearing a few curses and spells._

_He rolled his shoulders and then bent down to pick a dusty old book tucked under the desk, the burgundy table cloth tickling the ground. _

_His hand disappeared behind the velvet curtain before resurfacing with a dust draped book._

_He brought it up, and blew some air onto the cover, sending specks of dust flying into the darkness, before dusting away any grime left with the pads of his fingers. He made sure not to man-handle it too hard, caressing it as though it was a new born child, or delicate china just waiting to be cracked by his calloused fingers. It felt like ages since he had last touched it; the years that passed each of its pages grew thinner. Saul needed to be even more careful now._

_He dusted it off and then placed the leather bound book onto the table as he briefly scanned the imprinted cover. Latin letters, a few hieroglyphics, and the usual inverted cross and pentagram._

_Saul smiled devilishly as his finger found its way onto the cover as he flipped it open._

_He filtered through its tawny colored pages, having to swipe the occasional dead bug off a zero or a B, as he searched high and low for her page. He passed one of his most recent entries; a newspaper extract, not more than a few weeks old, was pasted onto the right page._

_Saul looked down at it, at the face staring right back at him and the headline above it._

_"__Derin Peterson Found Dead Outside Local Bar 'Caleb's" _

_Saul had to stifle his excitement, the way his skin tingled as he read the bold black font. He slowly trailed two fingers along the print, savoring the feel of the thin paper. He went back by a few pages, and landed on the picture of a brown girl printed on newspaper._

_"__Kailey Beal Found Dead In The Confines Of Her Home. Source Tells Press Beal Was Battling Suicidal Tendencies 6 Months Now, Claiming Her Borderline Personality Disorder Got The Best Of Her." It read._

_He could remember that day. He'd strangled her in the bathtub and then planted her bluing corpse back in her bed alongside some sleeping pills. He'd left them on her dresser. Saul couldn't say it wasn't one of his proudest moments. He'd left little to no scarring, having covered up his strangle prints with foundation. It was like playing dress up with a dead doll. He knew Allison from the pharmacy he'd visited a few times. She'd made a deal with him—her soul in exchange for six years of freedom from the prison known as her mentally unstable mind. Saul gave her just that. And then he strangled her with a bathrobe belt the next week._

_He licked his thumb, and then flipped to a new page._

_A picture of a young girl, no older than seventeen, smiling at him with her blonde hair pulled back into a neat bun. Jessica. Her story never made the press. Simply because her conservative Jehovah witness parents wanted little to no publicity on the death of their baby, claiming that they didn't need and old copy of the daily telegram reminding them that their child was dead every time they went to get milk for their coffee. Saul had to scoff when he heard that come from the lips of her petulant silver-haired father, gripping onto his wife's shoulder with dear life as he posed as Paramedic picking up Jessica's dead body from the pool out in the back. Saul knew the dirty truth about him, about what he did to his daughter, on all those late nights he came into her room to check on her, when he crawled into her frail body, when he filled her up with not only himself, but disgust, guilt. Jessica, she came to Saul asking for her father to get a heart attack in exchange for her soul in two months—she'd seen enough of life as it was. _

_Her father's page was two more ahead. Saul had burnt his body head to toe while he was asleep, because a pig like that didn't deserve a blind eye. He deserved to die._

_Saul's hand was curled into a firm fist at his side, as he suddenly went stiff._

_He nearly ripped Jessica's picture out when he hastily flipped to another page, breathing heavily._

_He began to filter through. All the pictures. All the faces. All people he had killed. The book was big enough to be a stand in for the bible, filled with no Sodom and Gomorrah, no Israelites and their golden calf, no bedtime stories Saul was there to experience back in heaven with God, with his brothers, but instead, his sins. His alibi to justify his monstrous nature that he kept trying to block out._

_Saul picked up one of the mason jars and launched it across the room, screaming. _

_A shrill crash was heard when it disappeared into the darkness, and he went for another, yanking it off the velvet table cloth, knocking over a few herbs in doing so. Next was the cup of bones. Then a cat skull. Then another jar filled with assorted berries and twigs._

_Saul was breathing heavily now, panting like a vicious dog,_

_He tried the oil painting by the door._

_He strutted over fuming like a bull, picked it up, and then threw it into the pile of glass he'd jusrt established. A loud clatter sounded throughout the empty room as the dark-haired man went on destroying his room all over again. This was his routine, Saul. _

_Crash and Burn. _

_Destroy everything that reminded him of who—of what he was. His belongings, certain smells, certain places—mirrors even. Saul couldn't look himself in the eye in one of those without shattering it the next second. He had refused to tell the old lady who was buying his house when she asked 'why a handsome young man like him had no mirror in his bathroom.' Instead, he'd responded with a simple 'haha', a pat on the old broad's shoulder, and urged her that 'May we sign the lease now, Mrs. Kimmel? . Three months later, Saul had killed that same woman, in that same bathroom, by breaking her neck when she came in to get ready for bed. A 78 year old soul boosted him for the next two years._

_He reached for the quartz crystal to his right, and flung it out the window, hearing it set of a car alarm outside._

_Saul had no more energy to tear his life into shambles—he quickly lunged for the book._

_He took it in his hands shakily, no longer caring if it were to come undone at the seams from his brutal handling, and begun to skim through the pages._

_Sheets of paper, dust, and cobwebs all flew from the crevices of the book as Saul rummaged through, going back years and years, ignoring all the dead Polaroid's or black and white headlines staring him in the face. And instead, looking for the one thing that he needed to see the most now._

_Saul's heartbeat nearly dropped, and he gasped, lifting his trembling hand into the air, and holding it by his head._

_His mouth had fallen agape as he sighed._

_He'd found it._

_Slowly, Saul brought his hand back onto the paper, his placid demeanor now slowly retuning and fingered the text._

_ "__Evelyn Jesse Macarthur."_

* * *

**_Here you guys go, I hope you liked it, I know I enjoyed writing it so much :)))_  
**

_**Thank you so much for the reviews from VenezuelaHumbug, SeverusSnape'slove, and Hurricane.'97. You guys literally made my day, and the reason it took me so long to update is because I've been trying to perfect this chapter just for you. **_

_**I hope you liked it.**_


	19. Chapter 18

_**A/N: Ahh, late update, I'm so sorry!**_

* * *

Dean shifted closer and sat down at the foot of the bed, letting out an 'oomph' as he did so.

Lynn wrenched her lips into a scowl.

"Well?" she tilted her head to the side expectantly.

Dean shrugged. "What now?"

"Am I the only one getting tired of this?"

"Of what?"

"You." She belted out, "You and your accomplices."

"Clearly." Dean replied, letting out a sharp sardonic chuckle.

Lynn's eyes were twisting into grey fire. She felt her anger begun to materialize within her, no longer mere emotion. It was alive.

She didn't think yielding her hand against the cuff would work, but she did it anyway.

She fell back with a grumble. Dean laughed from across.

"You're insufferable." She spat.

The elder Winchester feigned innocence.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Don't play coy."

He wasn't. This whole time, maybe Dean was trying to magnify his good side in front of the others, yes, but deep down he knew just how black the kettle was. He had to. What with the mark turning him and all, he needed to at least prove to everyone that he could be good—that he was good. To Sam. To himself. Lynn's eyes were trained on him heavily. It wasn't like him to be quiet—it wasn't like him to think. It was much harder than he thought, playing the good guy.

Dean shook his head, now looking into Lynn's burning gaze intently.

"What do you want from me?" he asked.

She watched him silently, so much so that Dean could shudder with insecurity that she could read his thoughts. She couldn't of course. But that didn't help.

Dean licked his pink lips.

Lynn thought. _What do you want._

Change.

Surrender.

_Three days._

"You know exactly what I want." She said, her voice coming out almost silent.

Dean knotted his brow.

She moistened her lips, going on.

"I'm not supposed to be here—with you. I'm supposed to be back home—I should be dead if not. When the fire started at the bar, I should've been there; I should've been dead. I—"

"Fire?" Dean cut her off as his thick honey brows bunched together.

Lynn nodded, her face wry almost as if it was obvious. "Yeah. The fire a t—you didn't hear?"

She craned her neck at the elder Winchester as suspicion begun to bubble within her.

Dean remained still with a twin feeling brewing—he had no knowledge of what she was going on about. This wasn't even the turn their banter was supposed to take. He was supposed to come in here, check on Cas to see if everything were okay, and then be on his way—but no. The angel decided that today it was his turn to babysit. Dean had groaned internally. He hated playing caretaker with Lynn. It was bad enough she hated him, never forgetting to remind him of that each morning when he slid in her entrée's of burnt bacon and eggs, but she wouldn't even let him do his job. As of now, she still had her walls up, much like she had the previous day. And the day before that. _And the day before that._

"You haven't heard the news yet?"

Lynn's voice jerked the elder Winchester back to reality. He blinked away imaginary tears furiously then quickly turned to the dark haired girl staring at him with a look of confusion.

"Were you even listening?"

Dean shook his head in an addled manner.

"Wait—what?" He squinted.

Lynn's weary eyes never once faltered as her hand, pale and numb like that of a still born, began to slither along the sheets of the bed. Her fingers were sliding, sliding ever so slowly like serpent beneath the blanket. Dean watched. They were getting closer. she could feel her knuckles graze the surface.

She grabbed a hold of it.

_The remote._

"Here" Lynn retracted her hand and tossed the remote to Dean.

He fumbled to grab it, looked down at it, and then back up at her.

Her face was somber, grim almost, as she sighed and briefly raised her brows before looking away. "Channel 7."

The elder Winchester couldn't bother to hesitate. He turned in his seat, just enough to face the small ramshackled Tv sat on the dresser across the right end of the bed. He had to inhale deeply. Not even a week by and they were already treading through mud. Dean was surprised beneath his solemn depression; he should be used to it by now, maybe even expectant that the next moment, God would sock him in the face.

He lifted the remote in front of him, eyes flooded with predestined grief.

_Play._

The pair sat in silence. Maybe it wasn't the case, but any sort of communication even in its mildest right now seemed wildly inappropriate. No one should've been talking. Silence was the only appropriate approach to what they were watching.

The news, on screen.

A blonde-bobbed lady, no older than 46 with dull brown eyes and laugh lines and crow's feet imprinted in her face. She was reading the headline that had been running for the past days off a sheet of paper in her hands. Her gaze never once fell on anything other than the viewer on opposite end of the screen. Lynn and Dean.

_"__A pure tragedy, last week's events, when local bar and lounge 'Caleb's' fell victim of yet another mysterious fire." The woman stated with somber expression. She had little to no emotion in her voice, sounding like a programmed voice machine rather than flesh and blood. How could she though. If it were Dean sitting in that chair, he'd probably right into her shoes._

_" __This has been the third time in two months an arson-case has been filed, alongside the Johansen residential fire that killed half the family, and the burning down of a local school—St. Agapitos—just at the outskirts of the city. Police are still hauling out bodies from the scene, having only retrieved 23 survivors out of the nearing hundred present that night. More on that with Phil at the scene right now. Phil, how are things on your end?"_ The screen split to reveal a balding man holding a mic to his lips.

Dean could see the bar—what was left of it—in the background. Broken floorboards. Ash. Destruction. Who could've done all this?

"It's funny. I should be part of that wreckage."

The elder Winchester immediately snapped out of his daze at the sound of Lynn's voice. He turned to look at her.

She was frozen, nailed by her grief as she stared vacantly at the TV. She never bothered to look to Dean as she spoke.

"Right in the middle of all that mess should be me. A dead girl. Lying face down in the dirt with my skin seered off." She said emptily.

Dean felt sadness shoot through his veins at what Lynn had just uttered. For some reason, he couldn't take his eyes off her. She spoke with such apathy that one could be convinced she herself lost a loved one in the fire. That she knew most of the people who died. But that wasn't the case—Dean got it out of Lynn herself that night at the bar, and even at the diner. She knew no-one but Joey. He'd say she was lying, but at this point, he took every word she said to heart, knowing just how vital it was.

"Don't say that." He broke the silence finally.

Lynn turned to look at him, and it was only then, that Dean realized that the grey glassy eyes staring back at him right now were glazed over with tears.

"Why not?" she grimaced wickedly, sounding almost angry with the elder Winchester. "Does it matter? Does it matter—to you—if my corpse were part of all that?"

Lynn's eyes narrowed viscously as she pointed her finger at the screen.

"How does that help you?"

"It doesn't" Dean replied, trying to ignore the guilt currently filling him "but it doesn't help you either."

"You don't know that." Lynn spat.

Dean scoffed. The TV was still running in the sullen room.

"I forgot you're insane." He turned back to watch as Phil strutted around the tarnished remains of what once was Caleb's. Sad, Dean thought, how much Joey put into that business only to have it destroyed. It was always sad to watch life drain in any form. You'd think being a hunter would help numb that, help you refrain from human feelings of sadness. But still, Dean found himself unable to block out his sympathy towards Lynn at that very moment, and the scorched wooden remains of what once was a place of leisure.

She was just sitting there. Dean could feel it—she was staring daggers into the side of his face. In his peripheral vision, he could see her already opening her mouth to speak.

"It's insane to care about your friends, isn't it? To you? Someone without any?" She said numbly as Dean watched Phil step through what once was the entry to the back lounge, hunching down to avoid the dangling cable wires over-head.

"You said you barely knew those people. Just their faces." He replied.

Lynn never responded.

A beat of silence lasting more than five seconds, and Dean had to crane his neck to her in curiosity over her sudden silence. He was about to open his mouth to speak when she cut him short.

"Brady and Joey weren't just faces." She whispered hoarsely.

* * *

_The sun was beating down on New York as the day whistled on, filled with unwanted chafing and discomfort for Saul, as he strolled down the road. It was a poor decision for him to trade in his favorite chalk white shirt for nothing but bare skin beneath a charcoal trench coat he was wearing. The previous night, he had ripped a hole in the bust of the shirt, and today he was planning on setting out to get a replacement. In the mean time, his actions went against all reasoning, and he had to walk around all day feeling like an overheated potato begging to be stripped of its skin._

_Right now he was on his way to meet up with an old friend. That was his priority at the moment. She was his priority. The previous night was sodden with depression, but Saul could handle it. He'd go to bed with a weight on his shoulders and then wake up the next day feeling like a champ. He'd regenerate. He'd heal._

_He turned off the grimy sidewalk and into a dark alley cluttered with the scent of wet soil and fermentation. He walked fast through the pot-holed path, trying his best to go by un-noticed. Kai was a great guy, an old friend from Saul's initial fall to earth, but he'd be lying if he didn't say he hated paying him a visit every now and then at work. Kai worked in a library stacking books. Saul wasn't willing to destroy the leather on his feet at that cost, and yet he found himself walking this very same path every once in a while. He was sure he was on the verge of befriending the common sewer rats._

_Saul trotted up to the building ahead of him. It was large, out of the sticky crevice of the dark alley by a few feet, and now basking in the sun. _

_If they didn't know inside it were bounties of leather bound books, one would assume it an old Victorian church. Gargoyles stood firmly engraved in the structure, pillars glazed with gloss and varnish, carvings of all sorts bringing it out. In the center stood a great oak wood door with large silver rings for handles._

_Saul jogged up the first few steps littered with pigeon feathers and crumpled paper and then stepped in. Once in, the dark-haired man liberated himself with the pop of two of the top buttons of his coat. _

_Saul basked in the relief._

_He shut his eyes, and let out a drawled out moan. It echoed in the high-ceilinged hall accidentally. Heads turned from the confines of the desk as Saul fluttered his eyes open in realization. He was still regulating his breathing, feeling the cool air of the library dance on his collarbone with his eyes scanning the curious—and at times flushed—faces, when out of the bloom, he spotted him._

_Kai. _

_One of the sets of eyes watching him from behind a book shelf in the far left._

_They locked eyes for a moment, standing completely still, before a smile began to etch its way onto Saul's face._

_Kai only smiled shyly in response._

_Saul remained at the door for a minute, smiling, before adjusting his coat and crossing the room in long strides._

_"__Old friend." He said as he approached Kai who had just left his cart of books un-tended to. _

_They met half way, and greeted each other with a firm and brief hug. Kai's simper, although still slightly hidden, was bigger now._

_"__How long's it been since you were last here?" he beamed._

_Saul chuckled, running a hand through his hair. "As if I can remember."_

_They found and empty desk in a far corner of the library and sat down to chat once Kai told Liz the receptionist he was taking his 15 minute break. She'd snapped at him to be punctual. He'd waved her off with a boyish grin._

_"__So," the brown-haired boy grinned fully now as they squeezed into the corner. _

_Saul rolled his shoulders to fit his posture, and then his attention was fully on Kai. He too was focused, eyes trained on his elder._

_"__What brings you here?" he grinned crookedly, his hands together on the table. Saul hadn't forgotten that grin of his. Friendly. Boyish. Lopsided. He'd seen it too many times, and yet he could never get tired of it._

_The blue-eyed man shrugged._

_"__Just business, the usual." He replied. "I dropped back into town about a week ago. Can't say I didn't think of paying you a visit. You know I think of you when I think New York."_

_"__Why am I not flattered." Kai puckered his pink lips._

_Saul shrugged. "You're not easy."_

_"__Right." Kai nodded, letting a soft chuckle end his statement. Saul joined in for a brief second before it fizzled out as fast as it started._

_"__I just wanted to pay you a visit" he went on, lolling his head to the side with such fluidity." You know me; I don't have too many people to consider friends."_

_Kai sighed as he leaned back in his seat, jerking his chin at the blue-eyed man. "Because you killed them all?"_

_Saul sucked in his lips to a straight line and tipped his head at Kai._

_"__Spot on._

_"__Well you're always welcome here." He replied before his tone began to change. It grew deflated, still breaching excitement, but also sadder, more nostalgic as he craned his neck to look away into the space of the library._

_Saul noticed his friend's shift in gaze, and followed it, looking over his shoulder to see. More people were lining up with Liz, books in hand. Kai was watching them with a familiarity he couldn't say he enjoyed._

_"__It gets lonely," he said suddenly. "Even in a place filled with so many people, so many worlds—Tolkien, Rowling, the greats of the greats, y'know?—all those fantasy worlds I'm surrounded by. I somehow still feel alone in mine."_

_Kai finished with his voice trailing off into nothing._

_Finally Saul turned back around, looking to the dark haired boy's vacant face. He shifted back to his original position, speaking._

_"__That's just because you don't get enough exposure." He stated earnestly, "C'mon, you live in New York, why don't you go see the city?"_

_Kai watched him silently for a second before tossing his head back in sardonic laughter at that. _

_"__Please," he shook the nest of brown curls atop his head. "What's there to see? People being rude to each other and Broadway? I've experienced both of those, and only one of them was entertaining. Can you imagine two old broads got into a fight over who got the last seat on the subway?"_

_"__You're young, Kai. Go enjoy it while it lasts." Saul dismissed the conversation with a sigh, knowing too well that any debate further would just be going in circles. Stubborn. Kai was stubborn, that he knew._

_He refused to continue with the conversation, and so, instead the pair bathed in the silence surrounding them. Saul knew what he had said left the younger boy thinking while he sat aimlessly breathing in and out the smell of old books, before glancing down at the book on Fascism in the late 60's that sat on their table, and picking it up to run through a bit._

_Saul brought the book up to his face, turning it around to look at the back cover painted in red and beige, and flipped open the first page when Kai's voice broke through._

_"__This coming from you." He said sourly._

_When Saul looked up from his book, he found his friend staring at him with a look of boredom. His head was tilted to the side subtly and his arms were crossed._

_Saul's eyes never left his face as he set down the book._

_"__From a friend." he said, pushing the tawny object in the middle of the table._

_Kai sighed, looked down at his crossed twig arms for a seconds, then back up at Saul._

_"__I will." He nodded solemnly. Saul's mouth twitched at the corner, a wry twisted smirk which never reached his settled eyes._

_"__I know there's much to see. I know a lot's been changing. You for example." Kai rolled his shoulders as his former confident demeanor returned. "I see you've been busy." He stated in a challenging tone._

_There it was._

_The other shoe Saul had been ever so silently anticipating. He'd seen it coming from a mile away._

_"__Like I said, I'm here on business." The dark haired man tried to play it cool, shrugging with sheer nonchalance._

_"__I saw it on the news, Saul. Your pushing this thing too much and it's gonna blow in your face if you don't watch yourself."_

_"__This coming from you."_

_"__From a friend. I don't wanna find out you've been caught."_

_"__Relax," Saul let out a deep hot breath. "I won't be."_

_."What about those feds on your tail?"_

_"__Why are you worrying about me?"_

_"__I don't know." Kai shrugged, eyes never leaving Saul's. " Isn't that why you're here? You want me to fix you? To worry what you're going through then provide an antidote?"_

_"__I'm here because I'm your friend." he said honestly_

_Kai scoffed. "When you need something, right?"_

_"__Get over yourself."_

_"__This is how it always goes: you come in here, chat me up, and then expect me to shoot my magical load in your face." The younger man seemed to be growing more and more agitated by the second as he gestured wildly with his hands. Saul ignored this though. _

_He shrugged."I mean, if that's what you want." _

_"__I'm out. Siphoning isn't as easy as you'd imagine."_

_Kai's words got more and more viscious by the second as a somewhat violent flare grew in his eyes. Saul decided not to press on side matters—he'd get to the point._

_He glanced around the room, skeptically eyeing the surrounding individuals looking through books upon the shelves, and tried to keep his voice low._

_He leaned in, leveling his gaze with that of his friend._

_"__I don't want you to siphon shit, okay?" Saul's voice came out in almost a whisper as he tried to keep his volume to a minimum._

_At his words, Kai's brow immediately twisted, and his pink mouth once holding a tight scowl fell open._

_"__What?" he said, confused._

_Saul licked his lips. He opened his mouth to speak, but paused as an elderly woman passed by their table. He eyed her skeptically while Kai sat in confusion._

_He widened his eyes at Saul._

_"__Hello?"_

_Saul shook himself, returning his attention to Kai as the lady walked up to the counter with her book._

_"__Sorry, I uhm—I was saying, I'm not here about siphoning."_

_"__Why else would you be in town?" Kai made an incredulous, almost disgusted face. Saul decided it best not to comment._

_"__Bec—"_

_"__And don't you dare say it's because you 'wanted to see me'. I know you well enough."_

_"__Are you going to let me speak or not?"_

_Kai defensively adjusted his arms, jutted his lip out further then jerked his head at his friend. "I'm listening."_

_"__Good," Saul inhaled deeply and tried to space out his jumbled thoughts._

_"__What if I told you," he began slowly "…what we did all those years ago—what we left unfinished—could finally be completed?"_

_There was a sense of desperation in the angel's voice as he spoke, watching his friend tentatively with his swollen blue orbs as Kai's expression grew less stoic._

_He shook his head with skepticism. "W-what do you mean?"_

* * *

"What are you talking about?" Dean shot out, a certain brutality present in his voice.

They were still in his room. Just as they had been for nearly the past hour.

Lynn kept her gaze to the floor, fearing to show any hint of vulnerability at this point. Her eyes—her wet, sad sodden eyes—would give too much away.

"I mean they're dead." She spat.

Dean had heard her loud and clear, but still that never stopped his initial shock from asking again.

"What?"

"Did I stutter?" Lynn said, as the green eyed hunter watched her intently, eyes swollen with shock.

He wouldn't dare to move a muscle, instead keeping his focus on the brittle girl shriveled up in front of him. It looked like it had been days since Lynn had had a decent meal, and there was a quaint possibility it was. She was naturally on the skinner side, having her freckled cheekbones constantly reminding those around her of that, but now, she had shrunken up to the size of a mouse, something that one would only notice if they had seen her on a daily basis like the boys. Maybe it was just the way she was positioned in front of Dean; half lying on her back with an arm suspended in the air, the tears from her pale grey eyes dampening her pillow one by one—yes, dean told himself. That could be it. If not, it was what she had just said to him that had gotten her to this state of decomposition.

_What had she just said?_

He tried to remind himself. _Brady and Joey. Dead._

"Are you sure?"

He eyed the dark-haired girl. She shrugged her shoulders lifelessly.

"About Brady? No. Joey…" Lynn's voice wobbled as she barely managed to finish her statement, tears already rushing to her eyes. She shut them and shook her head.

"Joey's body was on TV. They pulled him out of the wine cellar all battered and cooked like a turkey. I wish I could say I hadn't seen it but,…"

Lynn looked up at Dean finally. He noted how much drier her eyes were than before.

"You can't un-see, well—that." She smiled wickedly at the palms of her hands. They were pale. She was pale.

Dean nodded understandingly. "I can imagine." His eyes travelled aimlessly to thin air when Lynn's voice cut sharply through the air.

"No.".

Dean eyes immediately shot back to her, only to find her very own set on the carpeted floor, grimacing/

"No," She begun softer this time, "You can't. You don't get to pretend to understand. To care"

The dark-haired girl looked back up at him, sullen.

Dean wore a slightly offended expression. "How do you know I don't?" he furrowed his brow, but Lynn didn't care, she just went on.

"What do you know about loss?" she let out a chuckle so twisted that if Dean weren't taken back by her words, he'd shudder.

"More than you'd think." He replied simply, a cocktail of emotions boiling within him. _Anger. Defense. Confusion?_

"I'm not buying whatever sob story you're going to try and tell me."Lynn said, and her tone had immediately changed to one of nonchalance, as thought she didn't care. For a split second, Dean thought that maybe she didn't.

"Let's leave it at this: my friends are dead. Get out." She urged as she tried to sit up, grimacing even deeper.

The elder Winchester's eyes never left her, bitterly cutting into her dead frame. "And here I thought I was being insensitive."

She rolled her eyes, throwing aside the sheets as she searched for the remote before spotting it by the elder Winchester and snapping her fingers at him. Dean tossed it at her, landing it right by her knee. She turned off the TV, extinguishing the image of no longer Phil walking through ashes of Caleb's, but now, a robust forty year old man in front of a weather chart.

After a silence, Lynn let out a sigh, and fell back onto her pillow, staring at the ceiling. It was as though Dean was invisible, and to her, he probably was.

"What do you want from me, Agent," she whispered hoarsely, "I just found out one of my best friend is dead."

There it was, Dean thought. She was crying again. And still, even after all they had been through together in the past days, she wouldn't let him see her cave. A week wasn't a lifetime, but still, he felt entitled to some sort of intimacy, even at the slightest. He wondered—how many times, in the past days, had he missed his chance? Had Lynn been laying her in bed, cold, depleted, and crying?

With no one to even hide it from?

Then Dean's eyes saddened green eyes travelled to the dark haired girl lying there, streams of water cutting at the corners of her eyes—and nothing he could do to help. She needed to be alone, he could understand that.

And so Dean rose to his feet, dusted off the knees of his faded denim jeans, and begun walking towards the door. He was inches from the door, already raising his hand in mid air to open it when—

"Lynn,…"

Dean craned his head just enough to miss her glancing at him briefly—barely. When his mucky eyes found her, she had already returned her gaze back to the blank white ceiling. But still, she was listening. And yet she was still silent.

"I'm sorry." The words crept out from his mouth, taunting him just as much as they were her as he turned to face the door.

His hand was hovering right above the cool wood of the door knob when came Lynn's quiet, still, voice.

"No. " she said, and then looked up at him.

_"You're not."_

* * *

**_ Voila, here you go, I hope you guys liked this chapter despite it's incredibly late update (gah i'm so sorry 3)  
_**

**_Thank you to all my readers, followers and just all of you supporting this story. I love you guys, and I'd love to hear from you so don't be afraid to message me and start up a conversation. Let's be pals._**

**_Would really appreciate it if you followed, Favorited, and reviewed telling me what you thought of the chapter. Also, I want to know, what do you guys think of the lengths of these chapters? I feel like sometimes I write them too long and have been thinking of shortening them, but it all depends on you._**

**_So, tell me: should I shorten my chapters, or this length okay?_**


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